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draculeo · 4 years ago

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As a muslim Iraqi American with a significant tumblr following, I feel as though I should let it be known exactly where I stand when it comes to Riordan’s statement about Samirah. I have copied and pasted it down below and my reaction to it will be written down below. This will be the first time I have read it. If you want to engage with me or tell me that I’m wrong, I expect you to be a muslim, hijabi, Iraqi American, and from Baghdad. If you are not, I suggest you sit down and keep quiet because you are not the authority on the way I should be represented.

Like many of my characters, Samirah was inspired by former students of mine. Over the course of my middle school teaching career, I worked with dozens of Muslim students and their families, representing the expanse of the Muslim world and both Shia and Sunni traditions. One of my most poignant memories about the September 11, 2001, attack of the World Trade Center was when a Muslima student burst into tears when she heard the news – not just because it was horrific, but also because she knew what it meant for her, her family, her faith. She had unwillingly become an ambassador to everyone she knew who, would have questions about how this attack happened and why the perpetrators called themselves “Muslim.” Her life had just become exponentially more difficult because of factors completely beyond her control. It was not right. It was not fair. And I wasn’t sure how to comfort or support her.

Starting off your statement with one of the most traumatic events in history for muslim Americans is already one of the most predictably bad moves he could pull. By starting off this way, you are acknowledging the fact that a) this t*rrorist attack is still the first thing you think of when you think of muslims and b) that those muslim students who you had prior to 9/11 occupied so little space in your mind that it took a national disaster for you to start to even try to empathize with them.

During the following years, I tried to be especially attuned to the needs of my Muslim students. I dealt with 9/11 the same way I deal with most things: by reading and learning more. When I taught world religions in social studies, I would talk to my Muslim students about Islam to make sure I was representing their experience correctly. They taught me quite a bit, which eventually contributed to my depiction of Samirah al-Abbas. As always, though, where I have made mistakes in my understanding, those mistakes are wholly on me.

As always, you have chosen to use “I based this character off my students” in order to justify the way they are written. News flash: you taught middle school children. Children who are already scrutinized and alienated and desperate to fit in. Of course their words shouldn’t be enough for you to decide you are representing them correctly, because they are still coming to terms with their identities and they are doing this in an environment where they are desperate to find the approval of white Americans. I know that as a child I would often tweak the way I explained my culture and religion to my teachers in order to gain their approval and avoid ruffling any feathers. They told you what they thought you’d want to hear because you are their teacher and hold a position of power over them and they both want your approval and want to avoid saying the wrong thing and having that hang over their heads every time they enter your classroom.

What did I read for research? I have read five different English interpretations of the Qur’an. (I understand the message is inseparable from the original Arabic, so it cannot be considered ‘translated’). I have read the entirety of the Sahih Bukhari and Sahih Muslim hadith collections. I’ve read three biographies of Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him) and well over a dozen books about the history of Islam and modern Islam. I took a six-week course in Arabic. (I was not very good at it, but I found it fascinating). I fasted the month of Ramadan in solidarity with my students. I even memorized some of the surahs in Arabic because I found the poetry beautiful. (They’re a little rusty now, I’ll admit, but I can still recite al-Fātihah from memory.) I also read some anti-Islamic screeds written in the aftermath of 9/11 so I would understand what those commenters were saying about the religion, and indirectly, about my students. I get mad when people attack my students.

And yet here you are actively avoiding the criticism from those of us who could very well have been the children sitting in your classroom.

The Quran is so deep and complex that its meanings are still being discovered to this day. Yes, reading these old scripts is a must for writing muslim characters, but you cannot claim to understand them without also holding active discussions with current scholars on how the Quran’s teachings apply today.

When preparing to write Samirah’s background, I drew on all of this, but also read many stories on Iraqi traditions and customs in particular and the experiences of immigrant families who came to the U.S. I figured out how Samirah’s history would intertwine with the Norse world through the medieval writer Ahmad ibn Fadhlan, her distant ancestor and one of the first outsiders to describe the Vikings in writing. I knew Samirah would be a ferocious brave fighter who always stood for what was right. She would be an excellent student who had dreams of being an aviator. She would have a complicated personal situation to wrestle with, in that she’s a practicing Muslim who finds out Valhalla is a real place. Odin and Thor and Loki are still around. How do you reconcile that with your faith? Not only that, but her mom had a romance with Loki, who is her dad. Yikes.

First of all, writing this paragraph in the same tone you use to emulate a 12 year old is already disrespectful. “Yikes” is correct. You have committed serious transgressions and can’t even commit to acting serious and writing like the almost 60 year old man that you are. Tone tells the reader a lot, and your tone is telling me that you are explaining your mistakes the same way you tell your little stories: childishly and jokingly.

Stories are not enough. They are not and never will be. Stories cannot even begin to pierce the rich culture and history and customs of Iraq. Iraq itself is not even homogenous enough for you to rely on these “Iraqi” stories. Someone’s story from Najaf is completely unique from someone from Baghdad or Nasriyyah or Basrah or Mosul. Add that to the fact that these stories are written with a certain audience in mind and you realize that there’s no way they can tell the whole story because at their core they are catering to a specific audience.

Yes, those are good, but they are meaningless without you consulting an actual Baghdadi and asking specific questions. You made conclusions and assumptions based on these stories when the obvious way to go was to consult someone from Baghdad every step of the writing process. Instead, you chose to trust the conclusions that you (a white man) drew from a handful of stories. Who are you to convey a muslim’s internal struggle when you did not even do the bare minimum and have an actual muslim read over your words?

Thankfully, the feedback from Muslim readers over the years to Samirah al-Abbas has been overwhelmingly positive. I have gotten so many letters and messages online from young fans, talking about how much it meant to them to see a hijabi character portrayed in a positive light in a ‘mainstream’ novel.

Yeah. Because we’re desperate, and half of them are children still developing their sense of self and critical reading skills. A starving man will thank you for moldy bread but that does not negate the mold.

Some readers had questions, sure! The big mistake I will totally own, and which I have apologized for many times, was my statement that during the fasting hours of Ramadan, bathing (i.e. total immersion in water) was to be avoided. This was advice I had read on a Shia website when I myself was preparing to fast Ramadan. It is advice I followed for the entire month. Whoops! The intent behind that advice, as I understood it, was that if you totally immersed yourself during daylight hours, you might inadvertently get some water between your lips and invalidate your fast. But, as I have since learned, that was simply one teacher’s personal opinion, not a widespread practice. We have corrected this detail (which involved the deletion of one line) in future editions, but as I mentioned in my last post, you will still find it in copies since the vast majority of books are from the first printing.

This is actually really embarrassing for you and speaks to your lack of research and reading comprehension. It is true that for shia, immersion breaks one’s fast. If you had bothered to actually ask questions and use common sense, you would realize that this is referring to actions like swimming, where one’s whole body is underwater, rather than bathing. Did you not question the fact that the same religion that encourages the cleansing of oneself five times a day banned bathing during the holiest month? Yes, it was one teacher’s opinion, but you literally did not even take the time to fully understand that opinion before chucking it into your book.

Another question was about Samirah’s wearing of the hijab. To some readers, she seemed cavalier about when she would take it off and how she would wear it. It’s not my place to be prescriptive about proper hijab-wearing. As any Muslim knows, the custom and practice varies greatly from one country to another, and from one individual to another. I can, however, describe what I have seen in the U.S., and Samirah’s wearing of the hijab reflects the practice of some of my own students, so it seemed to be within the realm of reason for a third-generation Iraqi-American Muslima. Samirah would wear hijab most of the time — in public, at school, at mosque. She would probably but not always wear it in Valhalla, as she views this as her home, and the fallen warriors as her own kin. This is described in the Magnus Chase books. I also admit I just loved the idea of a Muslima whose hijab is a magic item that can camouflage her in times of need.

Before I get into this paragraph, Samirah is second generation. Her grandparents immigrated from Iraq. Her mother was first gen.

Once again, you turn to what you have seen from your students, who are literal children. They are in middle school while Samirah is in high school, so they are very obviously at different stages of development, both emotional and religious. If you had bothered to talk to adults who had gone through these stages, you would understand that often times young girls have stages where they “practice” hijab or wear it “part time”, very often in middle school. However, both her age and the way in which you described Samirah lead the reader to believe that she is a “full timer,” so you playing willy nilly with her scarf as a white man is gross.

For someone who claims to have read all of these religious texts, it’s funny that you choose to overlook the fact that “kin” is very specifically described. Muslims do not go around deciding who they consider “kin” or “family” to take off their hijab in front of. There is no excuse for including this in her character, especially since you claim to have carefully read the Quran and ahadith.

You have no place to “just love” any magical extension of the hijab until you approach it with respect. Point blank period. Especially when you have ascribed it a magical property that justifies her taking it on and off like it’s no big deal, especially when current media portrayals of hijab almost always revolve around it being removed. You are adding to the harmful portrayal and using your “fun little magic camoflauge” to excuse it.

As for her betrothal to Amir Fadhlan, only recently have I gotten any questions about this. My understanding from my readings, and from what I have been told by Muslims I know, is that arranged marriages are still quite common in many Muslim countries (not just Muslim countries, of course) and that these matches are sometimes negotiated by the families when the bride-to-be and groom-to-be are quite young. Prior to writing Magnus Chase, one of the complaints I often heard or read from Muslims is how Westerners tend to judge this custom and look down on it because it does not accord with Western ideas. Of course, arranged marriages carry the potential for abuse, especially if there is an age differential or the woman is not consulted. Child marriages are a huge problem. The arrangement of betrothals years in advance of the marriage, however, is an ancient custom in many cultures, and those people I know who were married in this way have shared with me how glad they were to have done it and how they believe the practice is unfairly villainized. My idea with Samirah was to flip the stereotype of the terrible abusive arranged match on its head, and show how it was possible that two people who actually love each other dearly might find happiness through this traditional custom when they have families that listen to their concerns and honor their wishes, and want them to be happy. Amir and Samirah are very distant cousins, yes. This, too, is hardly unusual in many cultures. They will not actually marry until they are both adults. But they have been betrothed since childhood, and respect and love each other. If that were not the case, my sense is that Samirah would only have to say something to her grandparents, and the match would be cancelled. Again, most of the comments I have received from Muslim readers have been to thank me for presenting traditional customs in a positive rather than a negative light, not judging them by Western standards. In no way do I condone child marriage, and that (to my mind) is not anywhere implied in the Magnus Chase books.

I simply can’t even begin to explain everything that is wrong with this paragraph. Here is a good post about how her getting engaged at 12 is absolutely wrong religiously and would not happen. Add that on to the fact that Samirah herself is second-generation (although Riordan calls her third generation in this post) and this practice isn’t super common even in first generation people (and for those that it DOES apply to, it is when they are old enough to be married and not literal children).

As a white man you can’t flip the stereotype. You can’t. Even with tons of research you cannot assume the authority to “flip” a stereotype that does not affect you because you will never come close to truly understanding it inside and out. Instead of flipping a stereotype, Rick fed into it and provided more fodder to the flames and added on to it to make it even worse.

I would be uncomfortable with a white author writing about arranged marriages in brown tradition no matter the context, but for him to offhandedly include it in a children’s book where it is badly explained and barely touched on is inexcusable. Your target audience is children who will no doubt overlook your clumsy attempt at flipping stereotypes.

It does not matter what your mind thinks you are implying. Rick Riordan is not your target audience, children are. So you cannot brush this away by stating that you did not see the harm done by your writing. You are almost 60 years old. Maybe you can read in between your lines, but I guarantee your target audience largely cannot.

Finally, recently someone on Twitter decided to screenshot a passage out-of-context from Ship of the Deadwhere Magnus hears Samirah use the phrase “Allahu Akbar,” and the only context he has ever heard it in before was in news reports when some Western reporter would be talking about a terrorist attack. Here is the passage in full:

Samirah: “My dad may have power over me because he’s my dad. But he’s not the biggest power. Allahu akbar.”

I knew that term, but I’d never heard Sam use it before. I’ll admit it gave me an instinctive jolt in the gut. The news media loved to talk about how terrorists would say that right before they did something horrible and blew people up. I wasn’t going to mention that to Sam. I imagined she was painfully aware.

She couldn’t walk the streets of Boston in her hijab most days without somebody screaming at her to go home, and (if she was in a bad mood) she’d scream back, “I’m from Dorchester!”

“Yeah,” I said. “That means God is great, right?”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a slightly inaccurate translation. It means God is greater.”

“Than what?”

“Everything. The whole point of saying it is to remind yourself that God is greater than whatever you are facing—your fears, your problems, your thirst, your hunger, your anger.

337-338

To me, this is Samirah educating Magnus, and through him the readers, about what this phrase actually means and the religious significance it carries. I think the expression is beautiful and profound. However, like a lot of Americans, Magnus has grown up only hearing about it in a negative context from the news. For him to think: “I had never heard that phrase, and it carried absolutely no negative connotations!” would be silly and unrealistic. This is a teachable moment between two characters, two friends who respect each other despite how different they are. Magnus learns something beautiful and true about Samirah’s religion, and hopefully so do the readers. If that strikes you as Islamophobic in its full context, or if Samirah seems like a hurtful stereotype . . . all I can say is I strongly disagree.

I will give you some credit here in that I mostly agree with this scene. The phrase does carry negative connotations with many white people and I do not fault you for explaining it the way you did. However, don’t try to sneak in that last sentence like we won’t notice. You have no place to decide whether or not Samirah’s character as a whole is harmful and stereotypical.

It is 2 am and that is all I have the willpower to address. This is messy and this is long and this is not well worded, but this had to be addressed. I do not speak for every muslim, both world wide and within this online community, but these were my raw reactions to his statement. I have been working on and will continue to work on a masterpost of Samirah Al-Abbas as I work through the books, but for now, let it be known that Riordan has bastardized my identity and continues to excuse himself and profit off of enforcing harmful stereotypes. Good night.

#*#og #rr crit #samirah al abbas #rick riordan

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

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Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 12 - ao3 -

The dinner lasted until late, late enough that Lan Qiren had to make his excuses and even then only just barely got back to his room in time to fall asleep at the appropriate hour; he didn’t even have enough time to do more than remove his shoes and outer layer before his eyes had closed.

Surprisingly, unlike most social dinners in Lan Qiren’s memory, it hadn’t been awful. Most of that had been thanks to Lao Nie, whose exuberance, as he’d suspected, could carry just about any social interaction to victory. After exhausting himself in thinking of ever more increasingly ridiculous toasts and forcing Wen Ruohan to drink them – they’d switched to wine at some point, although to Lan Qiren’s relief neither offered him any – Lao Nie had turned the subject to the type of music appropriate to be played at a wedding feast, and his opinions on music were, as always, so horrifically wrong that even Lan Qiren had been lured into arguing with him.

At some point, the conversation had shifted to the subject of marriage and weddings more generally, though to Lan Qiren’s relief both men clearly considered him too young to have thoughts about his own future in that regard the way his teachers might have. Instead, they’d spoken about the origins of various wedding traditions – there were some that Lan Qiren had thought were set in stone and handed down from ancient times which Wen Ruohan could recall having seen invented within his lifetime, which was a fascinating advantage of age that Lan Qiren had not previously considered.

It was equally interesting to see Wen Ruohan at his most charming. It was not a mask that the sect leader bothered putting on very often, as far as Lan Qiren knew, and it was a mask, one that was a little loose around the edges – even Lan Qiren could tell. Wen Ruohan would say the right words a beat too late, with his eyes a little too focused and his smile a little too sharp to be believed; his quips were a little too cutting and his suggestions just a little beyond the boundaries of common decency, his cruelty and indifference leaking out around the edges of even a casual chat with people he considered friends.

But at the same time, it was difficult to deny that he was brilliant. Regardless of whether he’d obtained his superior cultivation through dark and dirty means or not, he’d been the master of his sect and about a third of the cultivation world for at least a generation already, and no one managed that without being extremely clever and more than a little ruthless.

It made for interesting conversation, if one beset with a constant feeling of danger…

“I hope you enjoyed the bed.”

Lan Qiren nearly jumped out of his skin in fright, spinning around to stare at Wen Ruohan standing just within the doorway to Lan Qiren's room – he hadn’t heard him open the door, nor close it behind him. The other man was in his wedding finery, the brilliant fiery red of his sect turned to joyous purpose, and yet there was something sinister in his self-assured smile.

“The – bed?” Lan Qiren repeated blankly, and glanced at it. “It was…fine?”

“You complained, last time,” Wen Ruohan said, continuing to stroll into the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “Too hard, I believe you said…I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Lan Qiren vaguely recalled having said something along those lines and blushed in shame. “It’s fine,” he said. “I slept deeply and well. Thank you for your concern.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Wen Ruohan said. “You and I are brothers, are we not? My every thought should be of you.”

That didn’t sound quite right.

Before he could say anything, though, Wen Ruohan clicked his tongue lightly and stood in front of him, looking him up and down. “Your Lan sect’s formal clothing is truly a masterpiece of the embroidered arts,” he said. “A brilliant sight – especially all in white.”

Lan Qiren lowered his head, embarrassed again. If pressed, he would argue that his clothing was a little more silver than pure white, so he wasn’t actually dressed in mourning colors, but it couldn’t be denied that he was much closer than most, making it a little inappropriate for a wedding. Unfortunately, he only owned the one set of formal clothes, and there hadn’t been time to commission another; there was nothing for it.

“I like it,” Wen Ruohan said unexpectedly, his hands settling on Lan Qiren’s shoulders, smoothing out the fabric. Lan Qiren looked up and was caught by that intense red gaze. “My sect colors are red and white, after all – just like the two of us. A matched set.”

His hands burned too hot on Lan Qiren’s shoulders.

“White is a traditional color for the Lan sect as well,” Lan Qiren said, and his voice only quavered a little bit. “Anyway, it’s…mostly grey.”

“White,” Wen Ruohan disagreed. “As pristine as a pearl resting in the palm of your hand.”

His thumbs pressed lightly just by Lan Qiren’s collarbone. There were acupoints there, he thought, although he was having trouble recalling which ones or what they did.

“Yes, a pearl is truly the most apt comparison,” Wen Ruohan mused. “Simple and natural, yet shining with its own luster – I’d thought rubies, to make you fit to my taste, but perhaps pearls will suit you better.”

“I have no need for jewels,” Lan Qiren said, a little alarmed. Had Wen Ruohan really drunk so much the night before that he was still intoxicated, confusing his new sworn brother and his new bride?

“And yet I may wish to give them to you,” Wen Ruohan said. “Surely you won’t deny me – after all, I need to repay you for the charming gift you gave to me.”

Lan Qiren had a sinking feeling.

“Uh,” he said. “You saw it? Already?”

He’d searched the room briefly earlier that morning for the personal gift he’d bought for Wen Ruohan, intending on packaging the bowls away in his return clothing – why hadn’t it occurred to him to simply give it away to one of his fellow disciples, or even to trade or sell it? That way he wouldn’t have embarrassed himself by giving such a simple gift amidst all the opulent luxury of the Nightless City.

It seemed, however, that it was too late for that.

“Oh yes,” Wen Ruohan said, looking amused. “A set of drinking bowls, painted with a flowing border reminiscent of vermilion birds – made by your own hand?”

“I only applied the glaze,” Lan Qiren said hastily. “There was another gift, too –”

“I have dozens of golden crowns of better make and greater utility,” Wen Ruohan said dismissively. “Such a heavy thing. If you told me that you’d picked it yourself, I wouldn’t believe you.”

“No, I did pick –”

“Without constraint? Or from a selection of predetermined choices, each one deemed ‘appropriate’?”

Lan Qiren fell silent.

“Do not tell lies,” Wen Ruohan said, rolling the familiar rule in his mouth as if tasting a wine of fine vintage. “Yes, the guan is a very appropriate gift, neither too distant nor too familiar, too rich or too restrained, perfectly reasonable yet conveying nothing, giving nothing away...I’m quite certain your brother picked it out. But you were the one who picked the bowls, weren’t you? Did you pay for them yourself?”

Lan Qiren felt certain that the conversation was leading to some sort of trap, but he didn’t know what, or how, or how to evade it. “I did,” he admitted. “With my sect allowance.”

“How many months’ worth did it cost you?”

Lan Qiren thought back, calculating. “About three?”

He’d thought to get something nice enough that he wouldn’t lose face in giving it, though naturally he’d underestimated the luxury of the Nightless City. Still, it wasn’t as though he needed the money for much, anyway. The sect supplied him with basic clothing and gear, equipment to tend to his sword and musical instruments, and even access to books; he did not buy himself too many luxuries beyond that. Other than the fees he paid for various sect purposes, it was really only the occasional trinket that caught his eye or rare books on foreign musical techniques that he purchased with his own money.

It wasn’t anything like a sacrifice, not really, but Wen Ruohan still looked pleased about it, smug and satisfied as a cat right after the hunt.

“Three months’ worth,” he murmured, and his hands which were somehow still on Lan Qiren’s shoulders slid inexorably inwards to rest on the sides of his throat. “Even assuming you were extraordinarily parsimonious, little Lan, you could only save a third at a time; that’s nine months of your life that you spent for me. Nearly a twentieth of all the months you’ve lived so far.”

What a strange way to calculate time.

It wasn’t even right, since Lan Qiren had turned seventeen in the interval and that made the interval closer to a twenty-fifth than a twentieth, but also – who thought like that, treating time like a percentage, as if it could be measured and spent like coin? Perhaps it was simply that Wen Ruohan was so old already…and perhaps that, in turn, was why he looked at him so strangely, so unnervingly –

Lan Qiren swallowed, decided he didn’t need his pride more than he needed to get away, and ducked out of Wen Ruohan’s loose grip.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready or something?” he asked, turning and pretending to fuss with his robes to avoid making eye contact. “It’s the morning of your wedding.”

“Indeed it is,” Wen Ruohan said from behind him. He was standing too close: Lan Qiren could feel his breath on the back of his head. “Tell me, little Lan – little brother. What do you think of my marriage?”

Lan Qiren hesitated.

“The truth, if you will,” Wen Ruohan added. “I would hate for the purity of our relationship to be tainted by misdirection, even if you wouldn’t go so far as to lie.”

His voice was mild and even, almost sweet, and Lan Qiren was abruptly convinced that it was far more threatening than any of Lao Nie’s rages or his brother’s ice-cold sarcasms.

“I think you made it up to distract people from swearing brotherhood with me,” he said, turning back to face his fears and sworn brother, and felt his face go red as he realized how self-involved that made him sound. But it was what he thought, and Wen Ruohan had asked him not to lie. “You made a mistake, underestimated people’s reactions, and Lao Nie yelled at you because it was affecting your reputation and mine, so you came up with a better story and made everyone else believe it.”

Wen Ruohan hummed. “What an interesting theory. You don’t think the engagement was merely kept private before being revealed at an appropriate time?”

“No.” Lan Qiren shrugged. “If I’m wrong, of course, I’m wrong. But you asked what I thought.”

“Is that why you got me a gift?” Lan Qiren, surprised, glanced at Wen Ruohan, who was still smiling. “To thank me for clearing up the mess I made of your reputation?”

“I got you a gift because you’re my sworn brother, and you’re getting married,” Lan Qiren said, bemused. “What does my reputation have to do with anything? You’re not the one making everyone gossip, and even if you were, you cleaning up something you did is only what you should do. I don’t see what one has to do with the other.”

This time, Wen Ruohan gave a little huff of amusement, and he sounded almost surprised. “Charmingly blunt.”

“You told me not to lie or misdirect!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, feeling betrayed.

Now Wen Ruohan was chuckling in earnest. “Ah, little Lan,” he said. “Someone is going to get you into trouble one day, and it may very well be me…you’re right, you know.”

“What?”

“About the wedding,” he said lazily, and put a hand on top of Lan Qiren’s head. “Both in terms of motivation and timing. You’re entirely right, except for one part.”

“What part?”

His fingers tightened, the too-sharp nails digging into Lan Qiren’s scalp and pulling at his hair until his head was forced back to look up at Wen Ruohan.

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Wen Ruohan said. His eyes were boring into Lan Qiren’s own, the pressure of his will strong, as insistent as his voice. “You were not a mistake, little Lan. You’re mine.”

“Of course I am,” Lan Qiren said, suddenly irritated for no reason he could tell. “Your sworn brother. Doesn’t the whole world know it by now?”

“Mm. I suppose they do.”

“And on that note,” Lan Qiren said, “what are the terms, anyway? I never got to see them.”

“The – terms?”

“Of our brotherhood! My brother confiscated the paper you gave me before I could look it over, and naturally I don’t remember, so you have to give me another copy. I think I’m entitled to one, since I’m a part of it, and presumably you did the drafting. Was it one of the classical oaths? Which clauses were included? Provisions? Curses? Was there any consideration of – stop laughing!”

Wen Ruohan had released Lan Qiren’s hair in order to brace himself on the wall, he was laughing so hard. Laughing with big laughs that came up from his belly and stuck in his throat, and no matter what Lan Qiren said he didn’t say one single thing in response. Lan Qiren eventually gave up with a huff and stormed out.

Let the irritating bastard be late to his own wedding, for all he cared.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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red-catmander · 3 years ago

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As a fellow sucker for Flame Legion and charr in general, do you have any ideas on how more in depth females are treated? Like, we know they're mostly considered slaves/made to clean and cook n have a cub or two, but I still wander and wonder around aimlessly on what else they do. I think it's safe to say they don't have warbands, bc duh, but are they like, invited to special flame events? Like I dunno, shaman junk? My own commander is born n raised in Flame, so I'm trying to scratch a brutal itch to cobble together her story with more Flame Legion news

Ooh, anon, that's a very good question! About to get into some really grim discussion here so I'm going to put this under a read more, some elements of the canon lore get pretty graphic. CW for misogyny and discussions of sexual violence beyond this point

It's no big secret that women are treated atrociously under Gaheron's Flame Legion, even if we don't get many specifics. They cook, they clean, they rear cubs and they aren't regarded as people. Flame Legion operates in family units as opposed to warbands. We actually don't know too much about how the old-guard Flame Legion operates... Well, generally. We aren't sure how their infrastructure works, how they sustain themselves or much about their Citadel outside of what we see with Gaheron. We can glean some information from NPCs scattered across the world. A key source of info is from an event in the Scorchlands and Salina, a female who escapes from the Flame Legion and joins a female-only Ash warband.

That statement alone has some horrific implications but Salina herself expands on that

At the all Legion's rally you can come across a conversation where a female charr mutters darkly about how she's glad Gaheron's dead and how she hopes he's suffering. It's a fair statement. Interestingly, despite being second-class citizens, we find out that women were allowed to practice magic under Gaheron as opposed to it being a male-only thing, but unfortunately...

In fact, the Flame Legion's attitude towards women was so regressive that the Dredge flagged it as being completely unacceptable during the Molten Alliance.

I hope that answers a few of your questions! It seems that there was no ban on women practicing magic/shamanism, but the implication is that in any kind of warfare situation they were seen as more expendable. It's a sad situation :(

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #charrposting #flame legion #we don't get too much i'm afraid and what we do get is utterly horrific #no wonder efram is so popular

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gothicprep · 3 years ago

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Meditations on True Crime: A Very Long Post

In around February of this year, I was researching a potential video related to how true crime media portrays websleuths, contrasted against their efficacy in each specific case. The introduction was a brief primer on the genre’s evolution, beginning with its general association with low-budget LifeTime films, to a hobby with more dignity than that. I remember finding an article talking about Serial, and there was some commentary in there from another large true crime podcast host.

I didn’t think it was particularly useful for my purposes, but it said something to the effect of “true crime as a hobby can help women reconcile the trauma related to being in a world that is so hostile to us.” I rolled my eyes at it. It seemed dishonestly saccharine, like it was giving a sort of post-hoc legitimacy to just enjoying whodunnits. I didn’t think about it again for around seven months after I’d read it.

One of the subjects that I intended to talk about was Elisa Lam’s death and the online reaction to it. The story was adapted into a Netflix series a few months prior, and I was freshly reminded of how poorly it all sat with me. If you aren’t familiar with her name, she disappeared in Los Angeles’s Cecil Hotel in 2013, and her disappearance went viral after the respective police department release footage of her behaving strangely in an elevator. The case attained quick viral status and extensive discussion, due to the nature of the video and the hotel’s morbid history. When her naked body was discovered in a rooftop water tank a few weeks later, speculation exploded. But an autopsy isn’t an immediate followup, and the online sleuths would lose themselves to their imaginations in the time between. Many people wanted the murder solved, but many let their speculation fly off the rails. Shady hotel coverups. Metal musician murderers. Fear of the homeless. Ghosts. Demons. Government tuberculosis research. The gang was all there.

If you weren’t active online back then, it’s difficult to properly convey how huge this all was. Everyone was expecting Elisa to have been murdered. Iron-clad. Beyond the shadow of a doubt. She wasn’t. Her death was ruled an accident. She had a severe case of bipolar disorder and she wasn’t taking her medication. The severity of her illness was also not previously disclosed to the public. The working theory is that she experienced a manic episode with psychotic features, climbed in the tank in this state, to eventually strip out of her clothes in late stage hypothermia and drown there. It’s a horrific and painful way to die. All that’s left of you is water contamination – insult to fatal injury.

People weren’t happy with this, but not out of any sympathy for Elisa. There was palpable rage from many who had been following the case. No, she was definitely murdered. No, her killer needs to be brought to justice. No, this isn’t the real story. I don’t like it. I’m not satisfied. There needs to be an ending better than this.

Tragedy isn’t exactly in the habit of being kind to us.

When news of Gabby Petito’s disappearance was spreading, I noticed a lot of similarities between hers and Elisa’s. A woman in her early 20s vanishes while traveling, under very unusual circumstances. Footage was released during both investigations, which portrayed these women in mentally vulnerable states. The story was viral online. People rifled through Gabby’s instagram in the same way they did with Elisa’s tumblr. Social media detectives established an inappropriate amount of investment. Everyone is sure of a specific outcome. The family deserves answers.

Let’s talk about answers for a second. I’d like you to spitball a comprehensive explanation for this one: how could something like this happen? I’m not looking for a “how” in terms of events or circumstances. In this case, this isn’t a question. It’s a protest of the unfairness of it all. My daughter. My sister. My friend. Someone who meant so much to me. It’s a prayer to a vacant sky. It’s not a question, it’s agony. Nothing shy of resurrection can feel like justice. Even if the case leads to a criminal trial and conviction, it does nothing to fill the void loss burns within us. There is no good answer, because there aren’t answers at all.

Let’s talk about ourselves for a second. I noticed many people draw parallels between what they’d seen on the bodycam footage and their own experience with abusive partners. “This could have been me.” Do you really think this is appropriate? Could have been, would have been – these are statements with hypothetical validity. It has nothing to do with you. To emotionally identify with someone does not evidence anything. You’re here. She’s gone. This isn’t about you. She isn’t in the position where she can co-sign anything you say. If she can’t speak for herself, don’t invoke her.

Let’s talk about true crime for a second. It’s funny how true crime marketed to men has a distinctly different texture than true crime marketed to women. The former seems to involve knocking the perpetrator down a peg. It portrays them as something worth our disgust and ridicule. The latter tends to foster emotional identification with the victim. Podcasts and other media in this category tend to be by women, for women, and generally discuss women. This story is presented as catharsis for women who see themselves as similar to them. This woman is no longer a person, but an idea. And it makes me think of that stupid article quote that I resent myself for not having bookmarked. This is reconciliation. These women, in their passing, can be a motivating factor for us to break up with that one dumbass guy. I’m so happy this was a wakeup call. I’m so happy that this made me think about my own experiences. I’m so happy that this did so much for me. Sure, someone actually died, but what is that when compared to my own self-actualization?

I made a comment on Twitter about how disgusted I was with how people spoke of Gabby in such an evasively self-interested way, and someone who likely was of no relation to her interjected with how the family deserved the truth. Truth? What truth? What peace will grisly details give them? Is there any meaningful difference between knowing your loved one died of murder or collapsed from exposure? Or are you just a nosey person who’s projected an inappropriate emotional dog in this fight? Do you want answers for her family, or for your own curiosity?

I really don’t trust shit like that, nor am I willing to give leniency to people who say such things. I think we’ve been conditioned to relate to dead women in a way that’s completely separate from who they actually were. Alive, they’re deep, multifaceted individuals, with an array of likes, dislikes, quirks, and endless little details. Dead, they’re a concept to serve a purpose. The purpose is generally a form of narrative catharsis. The creep gets thrown in prison. A woman’s abusive partner gets the comeuppance he deserves. The story needs a good ending. The story needs an ending that satisfies me. People aren’t stories. Life is not a novel.

The real trauma of others will never belong to you. This not your therapy tool or plaything. This is real pain that will never be theoretical for plenty of people. Know your place. Keep your distance. Don’t objectify the dead.

#you know i'm going for the jugular if i bother to punctuate my posts #also do take my warning: it is long

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fenristheorem · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! First of all, I just wanted to say that I fell in love with your writing and the way you analyze the characters. Now, there is something that has been on my mind for some time, since I found out that Huang Hua can feel other people's feelings, I just imagine that she found out how Lance started to develop feelings for the Guardian. The secret looks he gives her, the restlessness he feels when she enters.

Hello! Thank you so much for the compliment! ❤

The request wasn’t exactly formatted in the way of the typical ask, so I wasn’t exactly sure if you were requesting this as a hc / scenario or just commenting for a discussion, but since my page is primarily writing requests I can only assume it’s a request lol.

I’m not entirely sure what Huang Hua’s special power exactly is to be honest. Some people say it’s the ability to read souls, or sort of read minds, or emotions, things along those lines. I have a general idea that she can read someone’s inner heart, energy/aura, and true intentions, which sort of combines many of those ideas as well as your ideas in the request, so I’ll be writing with that in mind. I hope you don’t mind! It won’t really have much of a difference on how I write this as the general idea (how it’s used) is the same.

~ Under the cut ~

Huang Hua’s observations as Lance falls in love with Guardienne:

Huang Hua, of course, observed Lance during his years of change at the guard. He certainly did become someone different; wiser, more resilient, more composed. She knew him once before his years of being Ashkore, but if asked, she would say that she would like this new Lance better. His actions have humbled him and made him wiser, and he has a more realistic perspective on life now. She’s not pleased with what he’s done in the past, but she realizes that sometimes someone can be their own worst enemy, and if they rise above that and don’t give in to living their life in self-pity, they can become even greater than they once were and provide greater things than they once could have. It seems like this was one of those cases, so instead of holding his past against him, Huang Hua lets him thrive in his new era and provide what he can for the guard.

However, there was one thing that always bothered Huang Hua about Lance: it was nothing but work with him.

Even prior to being Ashkore, Lance spent very little time to himself. He would take care of himself, of course, but aside from the occasional friends or acquaintances, or the occasional one night stands (I don’t think it’s confirmed that Lance had a lot of one night stands, but looking at Valk’s history we can say it’s probably true), he didn’t really spend much time to himself.

This still holds true in this new era, but Huang Hua understands his reasoning better. Even so, everyone needs a bit of a break sometimes; a time to wind down and de-stress. She’s mentioned this once or twice to him when he seems to be carrying the weight of the guard on his back, and he says he’ll keep it in mind... but never really does anything different.

This changes when Guardienne emerges from the crystal.

Immediately, Huang Hua picks up that Lance is high strung and stressed - although he hides it very well (after all, a soldier shouldn’t be easily visibly stressed out right?) - at her presence... but there’s something else, too. Something... deeper. Admiration? Respect? ... Fear?

And even deeper than that seems to be some other sort of distress... Longing?

This genuinely shocks Huang Hua.

Lance, the destroyer of Eldarya, is scared of Guardienne? Sure she saved the world and put up a good fight, but physically she’s completely out of shape now! A great warrior like him has nothing to fear now!

Except, she’s aware that Lance knows the art of warfare much better than her, and he knows personal things about himself that she doesn’t know, even despite her abilities, so perhaps there’s something she’s overlooking or can’t see.

As leader of the guard - with the ability to learn about some of the most private areas of someone’s life by simply wishing to know - she’s basically promised herself to not use her ability unless necessary.

But Lance being terrified of Guardienne is a valid call for her to use this ability to monitor him, right?

Huang Hua has roughly mastered the art of balancing work and her personal life, so she carries on day to day life with little issues relating to this. She knows how to not let this effect the guard, and knows how to hide it so well that nobody would know that anything is going on, so she allows herself to indulge in the sudden mystery that is Lance and his emotions.

And then she realizes just how deeply Lance feels emotions, and just how influential they can be, and it nearly takes her breath away.

All of the emotions flooding through him at once; the regret, shame, sorrow, anger, and even fear, all have a special place in him. They’re always so consistent, and so overwhelming. For a while, Huang Hua wonders if it’s these emotions that drive him in general.

Yes, this is not the first time she's looked into his inner being to know him better - after all, looking into him is how she knew it was safe to release him back into the guard to train new recruits - but this is the first time since then that she's bothered to truly observe him again, and she's shocked by what is revealed. Huang Hua did not know that Lance still carried the burden of his past actions so heavily upon his heart.

But every once in a while, when Lance and Guardienne aren’t feuding with each other, Huang Hua sees the dark cloud of those horrific emotions clear away, and something... wonderful happens.

Lance holds a tender spot in his heart for Guardienne.

Beyond all of that fear, and anger, and sorrow for everything that’s happened to him and because of him - including what Guardienne went through - is a soft spot for the woman he hurt most.

Huang Hua nearly gets whiplash from the sudden realization.

And then she gets curious, perhaps more curious than she should have been.

How long has that been going on for? Did he feel this way before the final war? Is this another reason why he kidnapped her and ran to Memoria? ... Would he have even have been able to feel this way back then?

Huang Hua has never been more interested in someone else’s relationship drama.

She takes to observing his actions over time, trying to decipher what he does for what reasons, and then finds that when he’s not doing things out of responsibility, he tries to make things a bit easier for Guardienne. He keeps his distance, sure, but if there’s anything subtle that he can do behind the scenes to help her, he typically does so.

On occasion - when Guardienne isn’t paying attention to him - he’ll observe her as Huang Hua observes him. She can’t read his thoughts, but she can at least guess what’s going through his mind by the emotions that flood through him, and a common emotion she’s picked up on is cautious hope.

Hope for what? That Guardienne will manage to fix a future mistake he fears making on accident? That she’ll someday forgive him, or move past looking at him and always seeing his past actions? That perhaps someday they can actually be close with each other?

As much as Huang Hua understands why Guardienne is so persistent on being cautious about Lance, she can’t help but hope that one day soon she may relax around him and trust him, perhaps even grow closer than just co-workers or friends.

After all, the savior of Eldarya and destroyer of Eldarya in love? That’s a story of impossible odds, tragic stories, and bending the world’s rules that people write legends and stories about! But it’s also a symbol of hope and faith; that if Eldarya’s savior can one day look past the actions of Eldarya’s destroyer and fall in love with him, then who’s to say that anything is in vain? Who’s to say that moving forward alongside one’s past enemy - despite their past wars - is a fate hopeless and filled with inevitable hurt? Their story could be passed down through legends, and teach important stories to future generations. Among that, she would be a good influence on him! She knows how to relax and spend time with friends, and knows how to stand up and fight and hope for the best even in the darkest times. If the sky were to fall in their future, and their loyalty lie with each other, Guardienne’s hope and faith could be the sole driving force for Lance to perform wonderful miracles. He has the strength, stubbornness, and resources to do so, he just needs the faith.

And then Huang Hua realizes he does have hope and faith... but it’s invested in her.

Guardienne - just like for everyone else - is a representation of hope, but in different ways for Lance than with everyone else. He’s aware of the possibility that she may never be able to see past his former actions but he still works hard regardless, and not to impress her or make anything up, but because he knows that that’s what she would want from him, even if she has her doubts about him.

The Phoenix begins to see a side of the Dragon that she’s never seen before, and she doesn’t know if she approves or disapproves.

Lance begins to work even harder in Guardienne’s presence, and this concerns Huang Hua for a while. He works himself hard enough, how is it possible that he can still give more? Doesn’t he ever get stressed? Will this somehow kill him from overworking? And yet, as she continues to observe him, he still manages himself just fine, and now he’s even more driven to protect Eldarya.

These observations carry on for a long time, and as time continues on, Lance manages to sort out his emotions a bit more, identifying exactly how he feels about Guardienne and learning exactly what pleases her. He does his best to provide what he can for Guardienne, in all aspects of life. However, Huang Hua notices that Lance continues to keep a distance from the Aengel.

This makes her wonder; why is he being so cautious with her? Surely they’ve calmed down to each other by now?

But a small look at how Guardienne is feeling makes her realize why Lance is still keeping away from her; she’s still scared of him, and Lance can sense this.

The Phoenix gains a deeper sense of respect for Lance.

He loves Guardienne, and craves to be closer to her, but notices subtle gestures that she may not even know she does that tell him she still can’t fully accept being around him. Despite his want to be closer, he respects her need for space, and Huang Hua has a feeling that he would keep doing that for the rest of his life if that’s what Guardienne needed. However, even while knowing that she can’t stand to be around him, he still works hard with her in mind.

His loyalty to a woman who can barely stand him nearly makes Huang Hua swoon. This is not a common thing with people, others rarely have this deep of a sense of loyalty to one person - especially someone they hurt who keeps pushing them away; they usually just split up in time - but Lance is firm in his loyalty and persistence for Guardienne.

And then Huang Hua starts to catch him displaying subtle physical signs of his interest. Perhaps he’s decided it’s time to push the boundary? Was he really willing to take the risk of upsetting her?

His eyes will linger on her, no matter where they are, only looking away when he feels as though he’s at risk of being caught. He’ll try and stay physically close to Guardienne when he can, standing close to her side, and on occasion when he leads her somewhere he’ll touch her gently, even if for a moment. He’ll place his hand on her back or shoulder for a few heartbeats, guiding her in the direction they need to head in, and he’ll take her arm softly when he pulls her aside from somewhere to talk to her. Guardienne’s reaction really depends on her mood. If she’s irritated or is feeling threatened, Huang Hua observed, she’ll pull away from him, possibly even snapping back with a blatant statement of “don’t touch me!”. Lance remains calm and collected, but Huang Hua is aware of the jolt of pain that thunders through him when she rejects him, as that same jolt ripples through her as she observes his emotions. However, he never holds it against her, and almost seems to be expecting this sometimes.

On the other hand, every once in a while when Guardienne is having a good moment where she seems to be more trusting of Lance, she’ll allow him to touch her for longer, and Huang Hua could swear she could pick up some sort of... longing, or perhaps disappointment, from her when he pulls away.

And during these times, there’s something that happens between them when they touch. A tension seems to crackle in the air, so thick that Huang Hua is sure that they can see it, and is shocked that no one else can see it. But how could they? No one else has her powers.

This tension is what sparks Huang Hua to become truly invested in their possible relationship. Most of the time Lance and Guardienne don’t seem to know what to make of their relationship, but Huang Hua knows there’s something there that can’t be ignored. Sometimes she finds herself thinking to Guardienne “Oh, kiss him you fool!” when Lance is being particularly tender with her, laying all his tragic emotions bare in front of her as they talk about a harsh topic for him, or when he tells her that he’s glad she talks about important things with him every once in a while, even if it is hard for him. Guardienne didn’t seem to realize that this wasn’t a common thing with Lance; he wouldn’t lie about his emotions, but he was very evasive with talking about his past. To get him to talk openly about his past and have him openly admit his regrets was a rare sight - not because he didn’t like to admit his regrets, but because he felt it wasn’t relevant anymore. It was seven years ago, and he had clearly changed since. He regretted his actions, he wished it never turned out this way, he tries to keep it from repeating in the future; what more needed to be said about the subject?

In this time, Huang Hua begins to realize just how deep his emotions for her run.

Lance had a respect for Guardienne, for every part of her, even when she screwed up a bit or caused a bit of chaos, even if he was angry with her. He admired her stubbornness and diligence at defending the guard and Eldarya, and her optimism even in the darkest hours always had a tendency to shake him to his core and snap some sense back into him. Huang Hua began to notice that his emotions on him pursuing her reflected her emotions during dark hours of their story; it wasn’t over until it was over, and as long as there was a possibility that something could change for the better, that possibility should be sought after.

The Phoenix begins to understand why Miiko once had such intense feelings for the Ice Dragon. Even though so many things have happened to him and because of him, he refuses to be held back or muted. He still allows himself to be who he is at heart, and doesn’t care if others like his personality or not. He had confidence in himself, even after the terrible things he’s done. Lance knew very well the extent of his abilities, and was aware that the most important thing about those abilities were how they were used. He had committed atrocities, sure, but he was confident in himself now because he knows he’s not using his strengths for wrong anymore. He has chosen to fight for good, he can see clearly now, and his loyalties lie with the guard, and, overall, with Guardienne.

However, Huang Hua picks up another emotion as she observes Lance over time, and she’s unsure of if it comes from him, or from herself because of what's beginning to be revealed to her about him.

Some sort of hollow loneliness pierces her chest every once in a while as she watches him. He doesn’t have close friends, he doesn’t pursue any other women, and he doesn’t allow himself much time to relax. Lance is a ghost that drifts around the guard, searching for some true place not within the responsibilities, but within the people he protects.

His past makes him hard to relate to, his perception vastly differs from most faeries, and his emotions are a deep well of running water, constantly shifting and redesigning who he is in any given moment, and yet he strives to find his own place within the guard, not as the Leader of Obsidian, but as Lance; the Ice Dragon, the man, the deep ocean of emotions and history who may very well never find a home among a people he can truly call his. Still he remains the same person inside, but always he is adjusting for the outside world, and he had yet to find someone who would risk unraveling his constant adapting to truly know the man underneath.

But everyday he rises to that challenge, brushing off the echoing thought that perhaps he doesn’t belong among these people - that perhaps he may never find peace here at the guard - because he knows he’s best fit for this responsibility. He can protect these faeries better than anyone else could, and his morals lie first with that, and second with his own fantasies.

Even so, Huang Hua doesn’t miss the hollow echo in Lance’s soul as he watches the guard celebrate, or witnesses close friends embrace each other and confide in each other, and she realizes that Lance doesn’t truly feel at peace here, not at all - not among the people who he’s betrayed and become an outcast from. He feels no peace at all among these people, they are not his people... but perhaps, when he looks at her - Guardienne - within her hope he finds peace, and someday, perhaps, he may find peace, a home, within her arms.

Was it possible that, even as Ashkore, he felt he felt he could find solace within her? Some opening within the dark clouds that overshadowed his existence for him to strive towards?

Did Lance believe that Guardienne made him a better man, even more so than he already is?

By mere chance Huang Hua managed to piece together everything she knew of Lance and his relationship to Guardienne, and she came to realize that there was something between them for a long time. It was deep, and complicated, and was never able to be pursued until now. The Dragon’s emotions for Guardienne ran deeper than any of Eldarya’s oceans, farther than the furthest mapped points, and was purer than even the Aengel’s powers.

Lance was truly in love with her. Not her powers, not her history, he fell in love with a woman who moved something within him that no one has ever touched before.

The Phoenix almost begins to feel guilty over time.

There was something there for a long time. Did Guardienne know this? Did she need a wake up call in order to realize what was happening before her? Was Huang Hua supposed to intervene and help get their relationship going?

If only she knew...

I shouldn’t interfere with this, Lance would feel violated and Guardienne wouldn’t trust me ever again...

But isn’t it a shame to let them possibly waste their life away not telling each other how they feel, or giving this a chance?

Stress eventually invades Huang Hua throughout her days, even when she's not around Lance and Guardienne. The Dragon and the Aengel, in time, grow ever closer, ever more comfortable with each other, and may even be expressing signs of interest for each other! But no one is doing anything about it!

But no one can see the deep roots of their feelings like Huang Hua can, and she's nearly certain that Lance and Guardienne will continue to tip toe around each other in a fearful dance of figuring out where they fit into each other's lives, never daring to test deeper waters in fear of hurting the other and sparking off another bout of painful emotions that may haunt them, and the guard, for years.

It's very possible that their relationship could change the guard and Eldarya - positively - forever, so doesn't this give Huang Hua some right to try and push them together? But romantic relationships are so personal, especially ones as special as this. A unique relationship like theirs shouldn't be interfered with, it will bloom in time if given the right opportunity... but what if Huang Hua can create the right opportunity!? But that's still interfering in their relationship!

Without even knowing, the emotional toll of observing and pondering over Lance and Guardienne's relationship does begin to take effect on her, and Huang Hua's own partner, Ewelein, is the first to notice and call it out.

The leader of the guard then needed to decide if she was willing to indulge her partner, someone completely unrelated to the matter, in her almost stalker-like tendencies of observing the simmering relationship between the guard's resident Dragon and Aengel.

Eventually she breaks and admits to the Elf that she's been observing the inner worlds of Lance and Guardienne as of late, and has realized just how much of a mistake and a blessing it's been.

The first thing Ewelein jumps to is the fact that it's an invasion of privacy, something that - of everyone in the guard - the leader especially should not be partaking in. Huang Hua doesn't really fight back on that idea; she knows it was inappropriate, she should have just approached Lance and asked if he was alright.

"But of course he would say that he's alright! Maybe a bit unsettled, but come on, at the end of the day nothing shakes him for long, and to him that translates to he's alright!"

Eventually its clear to Ewelein that regardless of how Huang Hua came to be in this position, she's trapped in it now, and feels very passionately about the possible romance brewing within the guard, to the point where it truly is stressing her in possibly unhealthy ways.

Ewelein does her best to comfort Huang Hua as she spills everything that's been revealed to her, starting from the beginning of when Lance and Guardienne were still fearful of each other, to the most current moments of when they've been relying on each other, talking civilly, and even possibly shyly flirting. The Elf is quiet and attentive all throughout, knowing that - even as she's surprised in many ways as well by the things time has revealed about Lance and Guardienne - her shock and emotions couldn't begin to rival what Huang Hua has been feeling for the past endless days that she's been observing them.

“I can’t believe it! This is love that stories are written about, that changes worlds and changes people. And he’s hiding it so easily!”

"But would it be right of you to intervene? This is their story, not yours."

"I know, but couldn't this be good for the guard, too? And possibly even Eldarya? And as the leader of the guard, shouldn't I try and do what I think could benefit us?"

"You first started observing Lance under the excuse that it was for professional reasons, to make sure that he was alright to remain in power and carry out his responsibilities despite her presence, but we both know you did it for selfish reasons, too. You were curious as to why Lance felt what he did about her, and now you have your answer. However, you kept observing them after that, even going as far as reading into Guardienne's responses to Lance. Is that professional at all? And instead of invading her privacy, don't you think she would have told you the truth of her fearful emotions for Lance if you asked her heart to heart?"

Huang Hua lowered her head and avoided her gaze.

"You've gotten your professional answers and now you've seen into a very private portion of two people's lives. None of this is professional anymore, so you can't act professionally on it. You need to treat this as what it is; intimate, personal, and something that should be respected, not exploited. I know it would make sense to try and get this to help the guard, but really, there is no guarantee of that. What if they got together and then broke up a while after? What would the message be then, especially if it were known that you set them up together? My advice is to stay back and let this develop in time. Sometimes when I'm with a patient there is nothing I can do for them, sometimes leaving the body alone to heal itself is the best thing to do. I think this is a case where that rule should be applied. The best thing you can do is let them figure out their relationship in time. You can support them, but do not influence them."

Huang Hua knows Ewelein is right, and forever appreciates her partner listening to her thoughts. If Lance and Guardienne's relationship were to be true, they needed to figure out what they meant to each other in their own time.

So Huang Hua follows the Elf's advice. She bites her tongue and hides the fact that she’s witnessed almost every moment of him falling in love with Guardienne, vigilantly awaiting the day where Lance decided to emerge from the dark and shake the guard’s history for a second time.

Goodness this took a while to write, but I'm very pleased with the results! I think I got a good idea of Huang Hua's reaction and how her reaction developed in time in response to Lance and Guardienne growing closer, especially since I don't think her reaction would begin and end within one day of realizing what was going on.

Thanks for asking!

Have a request? Ask them here!

But first, please read the rules list for asks!

#eldarya #eldarya ane #eldarya lance #eldarya huang hua #eldarya lance ane #eldarya lance headcanons #fenristheorem writing #askfenris

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hawkinsschoolcounselor · 4 years ago

Text

El and Morality

I don’t know about the rest of you, but the latest teaser left me with a feeling of intense dread. We see these kids playing in a seemingly carefree manner, but then Brenner comes walking in. He greets them, and they obediently respond. They’re all very used to it by this point, and they all call him Papa. He claims to have something special for them, but then we cut over to El’s isolation room and hear Brenner asking her if she’s listening.

Why does this fill me with dread? Mainly because the previous teaser showed some similar images to what we see in this one. The 8-ball, for example, is shown on one of the monitors, only it is covered in blood. It leads me to believe that something terrible happened that day. With Brenner asking if El is ready, then the shot of who appears to be El opening her eyes as if from a nightmare, has me wondering if he used her for something that resulted in the deaths of the other kids.

It’s by no means the most likely scenario for this teaser, but it’s where my mind went. The eerie music, the heavy breathing (ostensibly El’s), the fear on El’s face, it sends an ominous message. Is El remembering something from long ago? Is this a new group of kids in Brenner’s new facility? Is it just a nightmare fed with fear and guilt since she couldn’t save anyone? I really don’t know, but the idea that El may have been used to test the “worth” of the other subjects led me down an interesting road. Whether it was a “training exercise” gone wrong or a deliberate “culling” of the weak, I can’t shake the feeling that El did something that she desperately doesn’t want to remember.

If Brenner intended to use these kids to his own ends, then they should hold no allegiance to anyone but him. Emotional attachments to anyone else would be a risk in his eyes. They would need to have total, unquestioning obedience regardless of what he may ask them to do. For El to be the tool he wishes her to be, she would need to not think twice about killing. Brenner would have instilled in her, and the others, a need to garner his approval. This is why he teaches them to see him as a paternal figure instead of a doctor or teacher. We’ve seen him try to get El to kill a cat, but she refused. This upset him. Yet, we also see her have little issue killing in other circumstances. She’s somehow developed a sense of morals despite being manipulated from birth.

Morals are an interesting phenomenon. The entire concept of right and wrong really is subjective when you think about it. It’s a very abstract concept, and the way we think about it changes as we mature. However, it is also heavily influenced by external sources. In this case, Brenner would seemingly have total control over how his “children” learn to evaluate the morality of a given situation. I’ve previously spoken about El’s mental development, and how Brenner would have wanted to nurture certain intellectual domains, but restrict others. Here I want to discuss a similar process with the psychology of morality. Specifically, we will explore how El may have been manipulated into doing something that we, as viewers, would find horrific, yet come to develop a system of morals in spite, or perhaps because, of that.

Lawrence Kohlberg conceptualized the development of morality as coming in 3 levels (Pre-Conventional, Conventional, and Post-Conventional), broken down into 6 stages . These stages are more or less cumulative, as previous stages help pave the way for later ones. There’s no clear-cut ages for these stages, but level 1 generally encompasses early childhood, level 2 is later childhood and adolescence, and level 3 adulthood. The first level contains the more “primitive” or basic moral frameworks, obedience/punishment driven and self-interest driven. This is a level defined by a more egocentric understanding of the world, as it revolves around what’s “good” being what results in a positive consequence, and what’s bad being what results in a negative consequence. For children, this means learning what’s “good” as a result of an external reinforcer(i.e. “Papa) and then developing this into a sense that it can be used for a mutual benefit (”If I do what Papa says, he will be happy, and I will be rewarded.”). Since it’s still a stage defined by self-interest, there is no loyalty here, and such relationships will deteriorate once it is no longer beneficial.

This may have been Brenner’s fatal flaw. Most individuals wouldn’t move onto the Conventional level until adolescence. While these kids may have had some basic sense of loyalty to “Papa” since it’s possibly all they ever knew, it would still be easily shaken. If you offered these kids some candy, they’d probably do whatever you said unless there was enough fear preventing them from doing so. Fear, not loyalty. El was afraid of Brenner. She may have done his bidding for a long time, but it was because his approval meant better treatment, not because his approval was of value in and of itself.

Given El’s age when she escaped, she was on the cusp of adolescence. Thus, she may have been developing some early features of the 3rd stage, which we can call the “good boy/girl” stage. Here, a person would want to be considered “good” for its own sake, and would look to society for what that means. For our purposes here, Brenner and the lab could have been attempting to be the “society” that the kids would judge themselves with. They would evaluate the morality of an action based on how the others would judge them for it. This is possibly where Brenner wanted the kids to be, only with no concept of what good or bad is beyond what he instilled in them.

That may have been something of a clumsy explanation of the relevant stages of morality, but I didn’t want to get too technical. The important things to take away from this is that El’s sense of right and wrong would have largely have been defined by what resulted in her being happy and/or rewarded. She may have wanted Brenner’s approval, but only because it meant good treatment. The problem here is that El may have been getting her needs met elsewhere: the other kids. If we presume, for the sake of argument, that El developed friendships with the other kids, then we could say that these relationships interfered with the total control that Brenner would want. If she gets older and starts caring more about how they feel about her than how Brenner feels, then his power over her weakens. This is where things get potentially scary.

Let’s say Brenner noticed this happening. El is the most promising, and most dangerous, of his subjects. He must maintain total control over her. However, she is very friendly with the other kids, running the risk of developing attachments that would lead to a more conventional morality. So, Brenner sets up a scenario. He isolates El for an extended period of time, possibly even telling her that the other kids accused her of misbehavior. He tells her that they don’t care about her like he does. El, being in those early stages of moral development, starts to see them as bad since they result in her being hurt. In a real world situation, one kid would be able to do something nice for another in this situation to smooth things over, but this isn’t possible with El in isolation. Then comes the day when Brenner has “something special” in mind for the kids. He’ll see if they’re worth the time and effort, while also finding the extent of El’s obedience.

None of this means El is a bad person, as we will generally see kids acting with such selfishness. One kid gets mad at another for stealing their toy, but fifteen minutes later they’re playing together as if nothing happened. However, kids generally don’t have superpowers they can use instead of pushes and mean words. There’s also usually adults around to help mediate such issues, whereas Brenner would probably want to encourage it to ensure they wanted his approval and his alone.

It’s possible that whatever happened that day changed El and Brenner’s entire dynamic. Whether El was responsible for what (possibly) happened or was just made to witness it, it didn’t have the desired effect for Brenner. We later see El reluctant to kill unless it was to protect (or punish). It’s still unclear where that moral distinction came from, but it suggests that she no longer saw Brenner’s approval as beneficial.

What happened after Brenner walked into that room? Why did he ask if El was listening? Is a present day Brenner asking if present day El is listening while she was remembering/dreaming? Or is the voice a past Brenner asking if past El is listening to his instructions?

Now, this could all be nothing. A good teaser will try to get us hyped up without giving anything important away. The “are you listening” might not even be from that scene at all in reality, or it could just be for the teaser. Still, I thought it a good opportunity for an exploration of morality in someone raised from birth to be a tool or weapon.

Something happened somewhere to make El believe there were right and wrong times to hurt or kill someone, and I just think this may have been a pivotal moment. I think we first see her kill (or at least serious injure) when she breaks out of her isolation cell. That can be explained by her still largely being in the first level of morality. Being in that cell was not in her own best interest, and she reached a point where she didn’t see a way to improve her situation. She may not have intended to kill the orderlies, but it was also not of concern to her. However, we also see her be more deliberate with Troy. First, she merely makes him wet himself, which is a remarkably clever solution. Later, she breaks his arm, but it appeared to only be due to him holding a knife as she simply knocked James down. When it came to the agents or the demogorgon, though, she was prepared to kill again. When she went with Kali to find one of the Lab men, she was ostensibly prepared to kill him until she realized there were kids around. The only pattern I can really see is that she will kill monsters or adults, but she’s reluctant to harm (at least seriously harm) kids or leave them without a caregiver.

I feel like this shows her being caught in between Pre-Conventional and Conventional levels of morality. She’s still largely going off of her own self-interest, but she’s also starting to consider the thoughts and feelings of others, namely her newfound friends. El seems to really want to keep them safe to the point that she risks her own safety. One could say that their approval, particularly Mike’s, is of value to her. She wants them to see her as good, and she attempts to conceal anything that would make her seem “bad” in their eyes, such as the fact that she’s messing with the compass or the fact that she opened the Gate.

We don’t really know how much time would have occurred between the event I hypothesized from the trailer and when El breaks free of the Lab. It’s possible that something happened there to get El to see some sort of moral distinction. She will prank, or even disable, a kid, but she somehow sees serious harm or killing of them as wrong. This leads me to believe that she harbors some type of guilt from her time in the Lab. It could be survivor’s guilt, especially if Brenner made her bear witness to the other’s being hurt or killed. It could also be something far worse if Brenner compelled her to hurt or kill them herself. Regardless, something happened somewhere along the time to get her to no longer as seeing her life in the Lab as “good,” leading to her escaping.

I think this is another one of those posts that got away from me, but hopefully I got my point across. If I try to hard to edit this thing, it’ll never get posted. Again, I have no idea what the teasers are suppose to mean, but they got me started on this train of thought. If you made it this far, then I apologize for those minutes of your life that you’ll never get back.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eleven #martin brenner

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 5 years ago

Text

sleeping on the blacktop

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: angst, descriptions of a car accident, blood, gore, mentions of death, vomiting, medical terminology (that i know absolutely nothing about !! i am not a doctor or an emt—almost all of my knowledge is from an anatomy class or tv so—don’t come for me pls), my ramblings about fate and free will, i also gave the baby a name (sorry if you don’t like it :( i just hate having y/d/n, ya know? too much work)

word count: 8.5k

synopsis: while harry is away on tour, his wife and baby get into a car accident

author’s note: please, be mindful of the warnings and don't read if you're uncomfortable with anything mentioned and sorry for the sort of rushed ending... other than that, i hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

“You don’t need to do that,” Anne says from behind her, and Y/N flinches, nearly dropping a plate. She got lost in her thoughts, staring out the window in Anne’s kitchen.

“You cooked. It’s the least I can do,” she says. Anne grabs a rag and dries some of the dishes. Gemma is keeping Rhiannon occupied in the next room, and from the peals of laughter, it’s the happiest she’s been in days. Y/N sighs, wiping her pruned hands on a paper towel. If she’s being honest, she’s not doing too well; Rhia has had a hard time adjusting to not having Harry around all the time, causing a varied sleep schedule and more bouts of fussiness in general, and Y/N struggles keeping up.

“How’re you doing?”

Y/N hesitates. She contemplates lying. She doesn’t need one more person worrying for her, and she doesn’t want people to think that she can’t take care of her own child by herself. Harry already worries enough, even though she’s assured him many times that he doesn’t need to be.

She knows that he feels guilty for not being there all the time, but she would never force him to stop touring and doing what he loves, partly because she’s afraid he’ll resent her. Despite him being across an entire ocean, she never feels like he is far; he’s always willing to stop anything when she calls, and he tries his hardest to talk with her twice a day. She always keeps him as involved as possible, sending daily updates and photos.

“It’s tough,” she admits, “but it’s getting better, no need to worry about me.” She offers Anne a weak smile.

“Can’t help it,” she says, pinching her cheeks lightly.

Noticing the dimming sky, the sun sinking below the line of trees in the yard, Y/N sighs.

“We should probably go,” she mutters, slipping into the next room. Despite how tired she is, she can’t help the smile that takes over her face when Rhiannon looks up at her, showing her gums.

“Time to go, bug,” she says, light and lilting. Rhia kicks her legs, making her almost lose her balance. She’s too confident for her own good, like her father; she’s only just started sitting up on her own and thinks she can wiggle around without falling.

“You sure you’re okay to drive, love?” Anne asks from behind her. Y/N rolls her eyes, yet smiles fondly at her protectiveness.

“We’ll be fine. It’s only a few minutes away.”

Ever since Harry left for tour, Y/N has been staying in their lake cottage to be closer to Anne. It’s only a quick 20 minute drive away, which has been helpful during the days when Y/N needed to catch up on sleep, and Anne is always happy to help. She didn’t like to do that very often, feeling like she was taking advantage of her mother-in-law.

The cottage was a cute little thing, perfect for just the two of them, and Y/N was glad to get out of their shared home; it was too big and empty for just her and Rhia. Harry was always able to liven up any place they were at, but now that he’s gone, it felt hollow and dismal.

“You know you’re welcome to stay here. I’ve got plenty of room,” Anne tries to convince her one last time. As much as Y/N appreciated her worrying, she didn’t want to impose, and she’s sure that Anne wouldn’t want to listen to a fussy baby, even though she would deny it to the end of her days.

Y/N puts Rhia in her coat with little resistance, which is surprising, but she only had a short little nap that afternoon, and they had a busy day.

“I know, Anne, but I don’t want to intrude,” Y/N says. “Besides, Rhia sleeps better in our bed, and you need all the sleep you can get, don’t ya?” She tickles her daughter’s little bloated belly, making her giggle sweetly. Once she’s strapped in, the baby stretches and tries to put Y/N’s fingers in her mouth.

“You know I worry about you,” Anne sighs, kneeling next to Y/N.

“No need to worry,” Y/N smiles. Anne tucks the woven green blanket under Rhiannon’s legs. It’s the same blanket Harry had when he was a baby, barely held together with a few threads and love. Y/N stands, hoisting the carrier up to her hip.

“Call me when you get home, yeah?”

“Course,” she says, pressing a kiss to Anne’s cheek.

When they’re settled in the car, Anne stays out on the porch, watching them until they’re safely on the road, offering a wide smile and an air kiss. Y/N is so thankful to have her shoulder to lean on.

It’s a clear night, which Y/N is thankful for, no fog or rain, which isn’t an often occurrence. She stops at a sign, brakes squealing slightly. She stays there for a second, feeling the familiar burn of exhaustion behind her eyes. She rests her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Da, da,” Rhiannon mumbles. Y/N reaches behind her, barely able to reach her on the opposite side of the back seat, and she grabs onto her fingers.

“I know, peach,” Y/N sighs, “Miss daddy, too.”

She never considered how fragile life could be until she met Harry, not in the sense that death is an imminent and constant force, more in the sense that everything, her goals, her view on life, and her priorities, shifted when she met him. He became her influence, and she was willing to go through hell or high water just to be with him.

In summation, it takes all but five seconds for your life to completely change, for better or for worse.

There are dozens upon dozens of tiny events that build up and push you toward that one big moment that will change your life. Nothing is set in stone; different choices lead you down different paths, and your paths are constantly changing, either for better or worse, and slowly but surely, you’ll finally reach the top of that mountain. Every choice you questioned, every sacrifice you made, will come together in due time, just know that you’re working toward a greater purpose.

Y/N has never been a big believer in fate, that everything is beyond your control and that everything is already set in stone, but perhaps there is some truth to it. Fate could have pushed her to leave home when she was young. Fate could have put her on a safe and stable path when she went to university that landed her a good job when she was fresh out of her internship, and fate could have brought Harry into her life.

But she will never claim fate as a sole guide to her life. Fate is not responsible for her success nor her mistakes; that was all because of her hard work and integrity, her youth and ignorance. To her, fate is simply an excuse. People want to put blame on something, and when things seem out of their control or when they make bad decisions, they don’t feel quite as guilty. They’re willing to take credit for good things that happen but won’t when it affects them negatively.

Say, perhaps, that fate brought Y/N to that intersection, then maybe it was fate that planted the trees that obscured her vision; perhaps, it was fate that made the lights in the post go out that evening.

If so, fate has a twisted sense of humor.

If not, why wouldn’t fate give her any time to react before the impact?

How could fate be so cruel?

—

Working as an EMT, there are always certain risks you accept when you are on the clock; not only are you surrounded by an unbelievable pressure, there is always the ominous cloud looming overhead, a thin thread between life and death threatening to break at any moment, and it’s your job to keep them stable until they arrive at the hospital.

Not too hard, right?

Being able to save people from the brink of death and reuniting families makes almost everything worth it, but there are always scenes that stick with you for the rest of your life, and for Leslie Greene, this is one of them.

What stands out the most is the sound of a crying baby.

She’s seen some very horrific accidents: cars that have been reduced to nothing more than a ball of cheap scrap metal, with blood coating the shattered glass, to DOA’s, where the impact made them look unrecognizable. She has seen a lot of unspeakable things and had a lot of good people die on her watch.

But never has she ever had a baby present at any accident scene. That’s new.

Those cries will probably haunt her for the rest of her life.

“I didn’ see ‘em,” the man slurs from the police car. He has a bloodied lip and a slight bruise forming around his neck from the seat belt. The stench of rum rolls off him with every breath. He sits back, eyes dull and hooded, like he doesn’t even realize what he’s done.

Another EMT meets with her half-way to the other vehicle, lodged against the ditch across the way.

“Driver side sustained some serious damage. The baby has no discernible injuries, but another ambulance is a minute out to take her.”

From the driver’s side, Leslie can see the baby on the opposite side of the backseat, the car seat still tightly in place. The baby flails about, legs and arms kicking with strength. The car is twisted and mangled, but most of the damage is on the driver’s side, the door latched closed. Shattered glass cracks beneath her boot.

When they’re finally able to get the car door open, the woman, barely even mobile, opens her eyes slightly, but she flinches back at the bright lights. Blood drips down from her hairline, bruises already forming on her eyes from the impact on the steering wheel. Blood pools on the leather seat as she shifts with discomfort.

James, a newbie who has never been to a scene with this much damage, breathes out shakily. Leslie turns to see his lips curling, close to dry heaving.

“Go get the baby, yeah?”

He nods quickly, pale in the face, and scurries to the other side. The baby is soothed only momentarily before her wails continue. The woman’s eyes snap open fully this time, panic clear on her features. She tugs fruitlessly on the seat belt, a pained groan leaving her when she moves too quickly.

“Please, don’t move. My name is Leslie. I’m here to help.” She presses a hand to her chest, feeling the woman’s racing heart. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she grits out, her eyes fluttering dangerously. From how she reacted to the lights, she probably has a concussion. Leslie cuts the seat belt, and glass falls onto the blacktop, clinking musically until they settle, like they’re sleeping. Through the gloves, she can feel how warm she is, sweat beading down from her forehead. Glass has settled in the divots of her wool sweater, but not before cutting her skin, caking the pearl necklace peeking from the neckline in blood.

“Y/N, I need you to turn a bit. I need to see where the bleeding is coming from,” Leslie says softly, inching her slowly onto her side. She sighs as more blood pools, gushing down her back and soaking her jumper further. It’s from a rib that broke through the skin. She can only hope that they didn’t puncture an organ.

“Does that hurt?” She asks as she puts pressure on the skin.

“No,” Y/N whimpers, eyes fluttering closed. When they get her on the stretcher, with minimal blood loss, she stirs with life again, her trembling hand reaching onto the sleeve of Leslie’s shirt, painting it red.

“Rhiannon—my baby girl—is she…” She swallows back tears.

“She’s fine.” Leslie knows that it’s unwise to lie to a patient; perhaps, she’s not entirely lying, but it’s never a good idea to give a victim a sure diagnosis without actually knowing anything. There may have been no physical signs of trauma to the baby, but internal problems are a very real possibility that they won’t know of until they get to the hospital.

She knows that she shouldn’t lie. It takes seven minutes to get to the nearest hospital, but it’s time that Y/N may not have; despite how quickly they were able to get her into the ambulance, she’s losing a lot of blood.

“Thank you,” Y/N sighs in relief, clutching onto her hand. Her wedding ring nearly cuts through the gloves from the pressure.

“Of course,” Leslie says, easily putting her on an IV.

“My husband,” she gasps suddenly, her arm jerking about. “Harry—he—he’s gonna be worried. ‘M supposed to call. He has to tell her goodnight—“

“Y/N, relax,” Leslie coos. “We will contact your husband. You need to focus on yourself, yeah? Don’t close your eyes, Y/N.”

Leslie can see the fear in her eyes; it’s something she’s grown very familiar with, but it’s not just fear for her own survival. She can see how scared she is for her family. She struggles to keep her eyes open, resilience and weakness fighting for power. Like any mother, she’s fighting for her family. She’s fighting to be able to hold onto and kiss them one more time.

She is trying so hard to fight for her family.

But at the same time, it’s so easy to give in.

“If I don’t make it,” she slurs, breathing quickly out of her nose. The blood from her nose slips down into her mouth, making her cough.

“Don’t say—”

“If I don’t, I need you to tell Harry that I love him, and that…” She lets out a pained whimper, struggling to catch her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault, love.”

Her lip quivers, teeth chattering.

“I’m just sorry for everything.”

Leslie knows exactly what that means. She’s making amends, apologizing for not being able to fight. A lone tear slips from her eye, but Leslie wipes it away.

“I will.” She promises, gripping her hand tighter.

Only two more minutes.

Y/N gives her a thankful nod, and as if she has finally made peace with the world, she falls limp, the light leaving her eyes.

—

Harry has always enjoyed New York, and it’s not very often that he is able to stay for longer than one night. There is just something about it that’s completely different from London or L.A. that he likes about it; He couldn’t imagine actually living there, with the massive crowds and fluctuating weather, but it’s a nice place to visit, very different from what he’s used to.

He’s halfway through the tour for his most recent album, and New York is the last stop before he gets a short break to go home. He has a show tonight at Madison Square, a radio interview in the morning, and then, he’s home free. He’s been looking forward to this break before the tour even began. Don’t get him wrong, he loves performing and meeting fans and traveling the world, but now that he has a family, it gets more and more difficult not being there for the people who need him most.

“So, I heard,” the interviewer begins, smiling widely.

Sadly, Harry has already forgotten his name. The interview was supposed to be a short little thing for social media, only supposed to take 20 minutes, so he could prepare for the concert that evening, but it’s been nearly an hour, and there are no signs of stopping any time soon. Harry holds off yet another yawn, the lack of sleep from the night before washing over him. He’s having trouble focusing.

“You’ve got a baby girl.”

“Yes,” Harry beams. Even though he wants to keep his baby out of the limelight, he can’t help the excitement that fills his chest whenever she's mentioned. He can easily go on and on about how wonderful and sweet and perfect she is. He tugs on his pearl necklace, biting on his lips to keep quiet. He and Y/N agreed that it would be best for Rhia to grow up as normally as possible, which meant only posting about her on his private social media and avoiding busy places so as to not be seen, but some things were simply unavoidable, like interviewers trying to get him to let something about her slip to get their five-minutes-of-fame. It seems rude of him to completely ignore their questions, so he just sticks to very short, vague answers.

“How are you adjusting to fatherhood?”

“Uh,” he laughs, fiddling with his wedding ring. “It was a struggle to begin with. I will admit that, but it’s getting better. We’re still learning how to adjust to everything.”

He says it like he’s actually there, actively helping Y/N, even though he's on the other side of the world. He hasn’t seen his daughter in nearly two months; video chats have absolutely nothing on the real thing. He isn’t helping Y/N put Rhia to sleep when she’s feeling particularly fussy or feeding her at two in the morning, so Y/N can finally get some well-deserved sleep, and he’s not there to play with her or comfort her.

It feels like he’s lying.

He’s a sad excuse of a father. That’s what he really is.

The thought makes the smile fall from his face, but he’s quick to force another one; if there’s anything that he’s learned after years in the public eye, it’s how to fake emotions. The interviewer gives him an understanding smile. He’s older, but not too old, only having a few years on Harry, age wise, but the wrinkles beside his eyes and the nicked ring on his finger suggest years of familial experience.

“I completely understand. I have three boys of my own, and—”

“I am so sorry,” Jeff, Harry’s savior, says suddenly from behind the camera. “D’ya mind if I borrow Harry for a second?”

The interviewer nods.

“No problem. Take 15?”

Harry feels a twinge of guilt as he stands quickly from the chair, happy to finally have a break.

“Thanks,” Harry sighs, brushing past Jeff to the refreshment table. “‘M exhausted. Maybe it’s ‘cause of Rhi, but every little thing wakes me up. Swore I heard her cryin’ last night.” Jeff is quiet, fiddling with his hands nervously. Harry doesn’t notice how quiet the man has gotten, and he opens a bottle of water, rifling through his bag.

“Isn’t it almost 3? Y/N should be callin’ soon.”

“Harry,” Jeff says again, stronger this time. Harry still doesn’t notice how his voice breaks slightly, wobbly and hesitant.

“Yeah?” Harry drinks nearly half of the water, not sparing a glance up. He fishes for his phone, only to remember that he left it in the car. He sighs and turns. That’s when he finally notices how shaken up Jeff is, pale and nervous.

“What’s up? Look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he laughs, downing the rest of his water before tossing it in the bin.

“Harry,” Jeff says again, soft and somber, and it makes Harry stop. Dread settles in his stomach, deep and heavy. Jeff has never been one to be the bearer of bad news, and he tended to beat around the bush. “Why don’t you sit down?” Jeff tries to guide Harry over to the cheap stool in the corner of the room, but he rips his arm from his grasp.

Harry has never been one to let his mind run wild; he’s the calm one, who looks at reason and logic. He's the one to tell everyone that everything’s going to be fine; he’s the one who takes everything in stride, like water rolling down his back. Bumps in the road are nothing. He’s the one that comes up with solutions and executes them with ease, but with the way Jeff is treating him, his heart races.

“What?”

“There’s been an accident,” Jeff says slowly, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

It takes a second for Harry to process his words, but when he does, he stumbles back.

His mind automatically tries to reason with itself, that maybe it has nothing to do with him. Perhaps, something went wrong at the venue, and they would have to postpone, lengthening his stay for only a couple more days. Maybe, Mitch got food poisoning and will be unable to play that evening. There are dozens of reasonable explanations as to why Jeff pulled him aside, but Harry knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t have such a mournful look in his eyes, if it isn’t anything less than very serious.

Okay, fine, there was an accident. That could mean so many different things. An accident doesn’t even necessarily mean that they are in grave danger; they could be walking away unscathed.

“W-what? I-i-is it Gem? Mum?” Endless scenarios flicker in his mind, each one worse than the last. The one thing that he doesn’t even consider is it being Y/N or Rhiannon. His mind refuses to go down that road; if it did, there’s no way of knowing how he would react. He doesn’t even consider the possibility of them being in trouble. He hates how long Jeff is taking to tell him, as if holding off will soften the blow. Irritation starts bubbling below the surface, and he finds it hard to keep calm.

“Harry,” he says, shaking his head. “Anne called me. There was a drunk driver, and they’re headed to the hospital now—”

“They?”

His heart stops for a second, and it feels like his chest collapses in on itself. His body feels like it’s reacting to a stressful situation, with adrenaline and fear and anger, but Harry isn’t thinking with a grieving mind; it’s cloudy and slow, delusional, even. He shakes his head.

“No,” Harry mutters, taking a step forward. He can feel tears burn in his eyes, and he makes no move to wipe them. “It wasn’t…” Harry can’t finish the question. It makes him nauseous. Jeff nods solemnly, which, in any other circumstance, would have been answer enough. “Say it,” Harry snaps.

It’s unreal, like a dream. This didn’t happen to him, not his family.

They’re safe. There’s just been a mistake. That’s the only reasonable explanation to everything. Someone made a mistake. Maybe a fan thought it would be funny to pretend to be his mum, and they somehow got Jeff’s number. It had to be a horrible, awful, repulsive joke to get some attention or something; as implausible as that seems, it’s the only thought that makes sense to him because he can’t possibly understand the weight of the truth. He doesn’t know if he can handle it.

His girls are fine.

They have to be.

“Harry—” Jeff tries to calm him down, seeing a bright red flush to his skin, frustration seeping through every pore. Anger isn’t becoming of Harry; Jeff has only seen him angry a couple of times, but never to this extent: red in the face, words shaky, eyes glassy.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“It was Y/N and Rhiannon.”

That is the absolute last thing that he wanted to hear.

Even though, deep down, he knew that they were in trouble. From the first moment Jeff said his name to how sickly he looked when he told him to sit down, Harry knew, deep in his heart and mind, that his family is in trouble. He just wasn’t willing to accept it or even think about it, as if that could change reality. Until Jeff said those five words that confirmed his worst nightmare.

And he feels his world come crashing down, but he’s stuck, frozen, mind not moving nearly as fast as it should be.

“My—my…” He stutters, throat closing. “My girls?” The ache in his chest increases tenfold, and he holds onto his, feeling the racing of his heart and his quick breathing. “You’re fuckin’ with me,” he scoffs, rage building. He shakes his head with denial. “What kind of fuckin’ prick—”

“I wouldn’t joke about—”

Harry knows that. Y/N and Jeff are close. Hell, they even considered making him their daughter’s godfather. Jeff would never joke about something this serious, and Harry knows that, but he isn’t willing to accept the reality because the reality is nearly too much for him to comprehend, to carry on his already weak shoulders.

“No, they’re not,” Harry closes his eyes, hands slipping through his hair like it normally does when he’s anxious. He tugs on it, but the pain is nothing compared to the sick feeling in his stomach or the crack in his pounding heart. He honestly feels like he’s going to be ill or pass out, feeling his mouth dry up, his hands clamming up, and he begins to feel light-headed.

“Y/N’s just about to call me. It’s Rhi’s bedtime.” He rambles, not listening to Jeff.

They can’t be going to a hospital. He talked to Y/N just this morning when he couldn’t fall asleep. He spoke about his worries and doubts and guilt that he felt for being so far away from them, and Y/N soothed all of his fears and reservations, reminding him why he does what he does. Before she left, she told him that she loved him, and he could hear Rhi babbling away in the background, content and happy and safe.

“There’s a plane leaving in a half an hour—”

“And I sing to her. That's the only way she’ll sleep through the night. She hasn’t been sleepin’ very well these past few days,” he says, lost in his thoughts. His words begin to slur.

“Harry, listen to me,” Jeff says, holding onto his shoulders, trying to keep him grounded, from falling apart. Harry doesn’t get anxious often, but when he does, everything comes to a startling halt; he’s not used to it, and he lets it overwhelm him until he can’t function. That’s the last thing anyone needs.

“No, no, they’re fine. They’re fine. They’re—” He swallows, and like a wave, realization dawns on him, drowning him. His family is in the hospital, and he’s not there with them. “Oh, god,” he cries, feeling bile burn his throat. He sinks to his knees, hand pitifully covering his mouth to keep from vomiting. His vision darkens. It feels like the walls are crumbling down, and he’s stuck, frozen and alone, with no one coming to save him.

Just like his girls.

“Harry, you can’t shut down, not now,” Jeff says, kneeling beside him. “They need you.”

He knows that. He needs to be strong for the both of them, so he wipes away his tears, clenches his jaw, and pushes everything down, even if it feels like he’s choking. He has to be strong for the both of them.

The drive to the airport is a blur. He swallows back his tears until his head feels like it’s going to burst and holds his breath until he can see black spots in his vision, but most of all, he’s numb. A small part of him is still trying to convince himself that this is all just a big misunderstanding, but the larger part, the part that’s screaming the loudest, tells him he’s being irrational and selfish.

It takes 7 hours to get home; he has to travel across an entire ocean to get to his family.

How unfair is that?

He wants to blame the world, God, fate. He wants to curse whatever force existed, but behind all of the hate and accusations and judgement, he is nothing more than a guilty, broken shell of a man.

He’s angry with himself, mostly, with the choices he’s made, with how selfish and greedy he was, and how inconsiderate his actions have been for the past few months. He can’t believe that he could be so self-centered, taking Y/N for granted. She’s his wife; they’re supposed to be partners, equals, and he treated her like she was disposable while he traveled the world, living out a dying dream.

He wishes he was there, to not only prevent it, but also to tell her just one last time how important she was to him and tell her of the pain that would spread in his chest at the possibility of losing her or their child; he wants so badly to show his love for her. In four days, they would have been celebrating six years together, and in that time, he has never doubted his love for her. He knew, from the moment they met, that she was meant to be with him until the very end. They were soulmates.

Now that he might lose her and his baby, he feels like his soul is being ripped out of his chest, leaving nothing but a gaping, painful void.

Jeff sends him a link to Twitter and a message: Harry, take all the time you need.

The post says: Due to a personal emergency, Harry will not be able to make the show at MSG this evening, and all tour dates from this moment forth will be canceled until further notice. Know that he wishes he could be with you all, and please, respect his privacy in these trying times.

He calls his mother shortly after, but she doesn’t answer. When he tries Gem, she picks up after a few rings, shaky and winded. He sighs, trying to quell the tremors in his hands. His lips quiver.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Gemma explains what happened to the best of her ability, that Y/N just left to go back to the cottage after eating dinner And that Anne received a call from the hospital, after he didn’t answer his phone (that part stung to hear).

“Please—” He begins, but his voice teeters and breaks at the end. He can’t help the tears that slip down his cheeks. Exhausted and weak, he finally cries. He cries for his wife, his child, and himself. They’re not heart-wrenching sobs, where he’s keeled over, grief and anxiety spilling out of every pore, but they leave him breathless, chest aching.

“Please, tell me everythin’s gonna be fine.”

Her silence is answer enough. She can’t promise him anything. It’s too early to tell, and she’s not going to lie to him, either, not when his wife and child’s life is in the balance.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Gemma admits, “but I will call you as soon—”

He hangs up before she can finish.

—

Rain thunders onto the broken concrete, a flash of lightning brightening the dull sky. Despite the rain, the earth nearly brimming with life, the hospital is dead. There’s not a soul going in or out. The lights flicker eerily in the corner of his eye. It’s four in the morning, so it’s not much of a surprise, but the sight of it being so lifeless just feels wrong.

His mind is moving quicker than the world can keep up with, it seems, and he feels like it goes against the laws of nature. It’s a strange feeling when you feel like you’re falling apart, but the world continues on; most people on the street wouldn’t bat an eye or even pay any notice to him as he’s deteriorating before their very eyes.

As irrational as it is, it feels wrong. It feels wrong that everyone else is able to go on while his life is crumbling.

He called Gemma when he landed, and there were still no updates on their condition. He broke dozens of traffic laws to get there, and now, he stands outside the entrance, still wearing his wool jumper from the day before, smelling like an airport, with rain soaking his hair. Droplets slip down his cheek and jaw, livening the dried tears from earlier, and they seep into his mouth; he can taste the salt.

He’s just staring at the flickering sign.

He can’t move.

Well, that’s not really it; he can move, he can feel, and he can see, but he doesn’t want to move.

How fucked up is that?

He doesn’t want to go inside. Despite all of his fears, and his longing for answers, and his need to see his family, he can’t move.

Because that would make everything real.

If he goes inside, if he pushes past those doors and sees the doctors, he can’t deny it anymore. When he goes inside, he has to face the very real possibility that he could lose his wife and daughter. He isn’t sure if he’s strong enough to handle it.

He’s being selfish. He knows that. He should be running inside, yelling at doctors and nurses to tell him what they’re doing about his family. He should be trying to do something, anything to see his wife and daughter.

But why is it so hard to move his feet?

And why does he still feel so numb?

He breathes in the cold air, burning his tender throat.

When he finally opens those doors, past the point of no return, he’s welcomed by a blinding light and the scent of antiseptic. The inside is just as lifeless, with dull white walls that leaves his head throbbing and dingy carpet that scrapes against his boots. He follows the signs, leading to the waiting room.

A new round of tears fills his eyes when he sees his mother’s familiar figure. He hasn’t wanted to just completely collapse into her arms, crying, in years, but now, he just wants to be in the comfort of her presence, to forget the world.

But he can’t, just like Jeff told him, he needs to stay strong, for them. He can’t shut down. He breathes out deeply, raises his head, and calls out for his mother.

Anne turns around, and when he sees Rhiannon pressed tightly to her chest, safe and sound, he feels more of his strength return, like he can breathe a little easier. He feels his knees weaken, but he keeps moving. He doesn’t feel quite so empty and broken and numb, a small ray of hope filling him for the first time in hours. He cups the back of her little head, thumb caressing the soft baby hairs. They’ve gotten thicker since the last time he saw her.

“She’s fine, Harry, just a little shaken up,” Anne says, smiling slightly.

His happiness is short lived when Gemma stands from behind Anne.

“Y/N’s in surgery right now. All we can do is wait,” she says, her eyes ringed with red, mirroring his own.

“Da,” Rhia says, and he smiles, a single tear running down his cheek. He wipes it and sniffles.

Y/N pretended to be upset when that was Rhi’s first word. She said it only hours before he had to leave. They were in their home, and Y/N was helping him lug his suitcases out of the bedroom when he heard it. It sounded like another babble, but it became clearer until—

“Da,” she squealed, bouncing in her little jumper chair. “Dada.” She hit a little plastic toy ring on the tray

“Y/N,” he called out for her and knelt down in front of his baby. She rushed out of the bedroom.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“Say it again, peach, show mummy,” he cooed, and Rhi repeated it, again and again, reaching for her father.

“I carry her around for nine months and feed her out of my tit,” Y/N whined, “and this is the thanks I get?”

They laughed, nevertheless. It was a bittersweet moment, as he looks back on it now. He was so happy that Rhiannon was growing and learning, but she was growing up too fast for his liking. He lifted Rhi up out of the chair and pressed a gentle kiss to her chubby cheek, tears stinging behind his eyes.

“She’s just daddy’s little girl. Aren’t ya, peach?”

She left a slobbery kiss, well, her version of a kiss (which was more tongue than lip) on his nose. He scrunched up his face, and her features pinched together in return, mimicking him.

“See, jus’ a little mini-me you are,” he said, tickling under her chin.

And when she called out to him after saying their final farewells in the airport, it made it even more difficult for him to leave.

Maybe it was a sign that he shouldn’t leave.

He should have listened.

He’s knocked back into the present when his baby girl looks up at him, eyes lit up with innocence, completely unaware of the dire situation they’re in. They’re not in their London home, and Y/N’s not there with him. His lips wobble, nose burning. His chest hurts, whether from unshed tears or from the thought of actually losing the love of his life, he doesn’t know.

He cups his baby girl’s cheek.

Rhia has Y/N’s eyes. He loves her eyes. When she first opened them, as he held her for the first time, bundled tightly in his arms, he cried big, fat tears until they were all dried up. He felt nothing but love for this little human because she was a perfect mixture of him and Y/N. He loves Rhiannon’s eyes, but now, they serve as nothing but a deathly reminder of his wife, who could possibly not survive these next few hours.

She gives him a gummy smile, her little tongue slipping out over her lips. There’s some white peeking through her gums, and his heart aches. He wipes some drool from her chin, and she reaches for him, but he backs away.

His stomach sinks, and he wants the ground to swallow him whole. His mother looks at him softly, not a shred of disappointment apparent on her face, as if she knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his own daughter. His throat closes.

How could he be so weak?

Rhia’s smile drips down, but she lays her head back on her Nana’s shoulder. Anne cups the girl’s head, wrapping the thinly woven blanket tighter around her; sadness and pity present in the air.

“‘M gonna check in with the nurse, see how Y/N’s doin’,” he whispers, backing away, and he stumbles down the hallway, following the signs until he sees the nearest nurse, clad in pale blue scrubs. Even though he’s sure the nurse expects him to look nothing less than distraught, he smooths down his clothes and clears his throat, trying to quell the cries building, lips quivering pitifully.

“Do you have any information on Y/N Styles?” His voice is watery and broken.

The nurse looks at him with sad eyes, warm and understanding, like his mother’s. How does everyone else know what he’s feeling besides himself?

“No, I’m sorry, sir,” she says, and he simply nods. He doesn’t have the energy to be upset or press her anymore. The heaviness on his chest building, he doesn’t even try to stop it anymore. He just wants to wallow, curl up and cry until he’s finally able to wake up from this nightmare. He hates the feeling like he’s just given up, accepted that Y/N may not come back from this.

He wants to fight, but all of the fight he has left him as soon as Jeff told him the news.

“Thank you,” he whispers, heading back to the waiting room. He sits down silently on the chairs next to Gemma, the worn wood squealing from the sudden weight. Anne paces in front of them, rocking Rhia back and forth, like she has been for the past few hours; call it a nervous tick or a mother’s instinct, but holding Rhiannon calms her.

Gemma glances at him in the corner of her eye, unsure of how to comfort him in such a situation. He can see her

“I can’t hold her, Gem,” he says weakly, and she looks at him, finding his gaze held on the small little bundle in their mother’s arms. She sighs. “What if—” There’s a bitter taste on his tongue. He covers his mouth with trembling hands, trying to push back the cries swelling in his chest.

“What if Y/N dies?”

It’s one thing to think about it, but saying it aloud breaks his heart in two.

Y/N has been a constant in his life for six years, and in that time, she became his rock, his shoulder to cry on, his stability, who held his heart so close to her. Then, he thinks about his baby girl, who has had her mother for barely seven months, just to have her ripped away so easily because of some drunk who didn’t know when to quit, and he thinks he’s going to be sick again.

It takes only one mistake to set off a series of irreversible events.

Exhausted, he doesn’t fight the sob that comes out, his shoulders shaking as more and more. He heaves for breath, curling into himself. Gemma wraps an arm around him, and he cries into her shoulder. He feels useless, sinking further into the endless pit in his mind. He’s never considered the possibility of Y/N never being there with him, holding his hand through the fire, and now that possibility is very real; he can’t face it.

When he’s run himself dry, he finally looks at her with red-rimmed eyes and swollen cheeks.

“If she dies, I dunno if I could even look at her,” he admits. “To see her eyes...” Gemma just listens. She knows that there’s nothing she could ever say to make the situation any better. She holds her brother’s hands tightly. “I should have been here,” he says, nodding softly.

“Harry, there’s nothing you could have done. It’s that prick’s fault, not yours,” she says angrily. She’s trying to keep calm, for everyone’s sake, but it’s difficult when it feels like her family is being torn apart.

“I would’ve been driving,” Harry insists. “I would be the one in there, not her, and they would’ve been safe.”

“You don’t know that,” Gemma argues softly. She’s never seen him like this before, but that’s to be expected in the situation they’re in. He’s normally such an optimistic person, and to hear him degrade himself is almost too much to handle.

“If she does make it—”

“When she makes it,” Gem snaps.

“She’s gonna hate me. I know it.”

“She has never blamed you for anything, not when fans gave her shit, not when paps would follow her, and especially not when you had to leave. There are some things that are simply out of our control, and she understands. She understands that you can’t be there all the time. She understands that this is your job, and your job has made you who you are today. She won’t blame you for this either, so don’t blame yourself.”

“You don’t understand,” he sighs. It’s true. She does not understand what he’s gone through. She doesn’t know what it feels like, but she knows that the damage is already done. There’s no use in looking back and analyzing everything to see what they could have done differently.

“I should’ve been here.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“Harry?” A shallow, unfamiliar voice speaks from behind him, making everyone raise their heads.

Anxiety spikes in his stomach. He wonders how anyone could have recognized him, since there is absolutely no one else in the hospital, and how insensitive they would have to be to come talk to him while he’s in such a state. Anger bubbles within him, his skin turning hot as he turns to face the woman.

The blood on her uniform makes him pause.

“My name is Leslie. I was one of the first people on the scene.”

“Do you know anything?” She shakes her head sadly.

“But I was with your wife in the ambulance. She wanted me to tell you that she loves you and…” She coughs, hesitation clear on her features. “And not to give up.”

She probably doesn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words because when he stands and tugs her into a hug, she tenses, hesitantly wrapping her arms around him. Again, like when he saw his baby girl, hope warms him, blanketing and strengthening him.

It’s like Y/N is speaking to him through her.

“Thank you,” he whispers, offering her a weak smile. Just as they part, an older woman rounds the corner. Everyone sits up a little straighter, the air becoming a little tenser, when she gets closer to them.

“She’s resting, now, but she should be up in a few hours,” the doctor smiles.

Harry wants to crumple to the ground as a weight lifts from his chest, and he can finally breathe. He’s run ragged, a broken cry slipping out of his blubbering lips. He tugs Gemma into his arms, who returns the embrace wholeheartedly. Such relief and warmth fills him that he can barely hear the doctor as she continues.

“There was some pretty severe internal bleeding, but we got her stabilized. She also had a couple broken ribs, nothing that time and care won’t heal. After we do some more tests, she should be released in about a week. I can show you to her room, if you’d like?”

“Yes,” Harry cries.

When they reach Y/N’s room, Harry pauses outside and turns to his mother. Her eyes, noticing the confliction in his eyes, are soft and understanding. He never thought about seeing her in such a state until now, but least she’s still with him, his little fighter, just like Rhi.

“Mum, can I, uh…” He nibbles on his lip, holding his arms out.

“Course,” Anne says, moving the baby in his open arms.

“Hi, peach,” he says, smiling. She sleeps contentedly, her features relaxed. His heart twinges as she burrows herself into his chest, and he wraps the blanket a little tighter around her.

“We’ll go to the cottage and get some extra clothes for you all,” Gemma says, knowing that Harry needs this time alone. She tugs her mother, who hesitates but soon follows.

He expected her condition to be poor, but that doesn’t stop the burning in his eyes when he sees her, hooked up to what seems like dozens of machines, her face swollen, and stitches along her hairline; she looks so fragile, so broken, but her heart beat is strong, breathing steady. As if sensing her father’s discomfort, Rhi burrows further in his arms, snuffling lightly.

He settles in a chair next to Y/N’s bed, one hand holding hers while the other arm cradles his baby.

“Gave daddy a scare earlier, peach,” he coos. “Daddy’s sorry that he wasn’t there with ya.”

He promises her many things, that she’s safe, that nothing will ever happen to her, and that her mum is safe, too, but most importantly, he promises to be there for her. He cries silently, careful to keep the tears and painful jolts of his chest from waking Rhi. He just can’t help it. After the dust settles and the smoke is cleared, the gravity of the situation weighs on him: he could have lost the two most important people in his life, and he would not have been there.

A nurse stops by to bring a bassinet for Rhiannon and to check on Y/N, who is doing wonderfully, especially after such an invasive surgery.

Y/N wakes after about an hour, just as the sun peaks beyond the horizon. Harry is still up, of course, watching his girls, finding comfort in the heart monitor. He pushes the bassinet back and forth with his foot.

“H?”

He beams when he hears her voice, gravely and worn, but it’s her voice nonetheless, comforting and warm. He wishes that he could hold her and kiss her until his love heals her wounds, but he has to settle for holding her hand and kissing her forehead for the time being.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, tears slipping past her swollen eyes. “It happened so fast.”

“What are you sorry for, lovie? You did absolutely nothin’ wrong,” he says, brushing back her hair.

“You had to leave because I wasn’t being careful enough, and I—”

His heart aches, eyes glazing over. He hates that he made her feel like his job was more important than her.

“No, none of that,” he says, shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter. Listen, this was not your fault, and as far as tour goes, it’s not nearly as important as you two. I would drop everythin’ if you needed me to. There is nothin’ that I wouldn’t do for you. You know that, right? You both are my life, now; I made that promise the day we got married and the day she was born. You both are my number one priority, and I haven’t been treating you like it. For that, I’m so sorry.”

“Harry—”

“It was selfish of me to think that I could live in the past and the present, live the life that I used to while trying to be a father and a husband. It wasn’t fair of me, and I am so, so very sorry, babylove.”

He kisses her, careful of her bruises, and she sinks further into the bed, comforted by his warm words and tender touches. Her eyes, fluttering with exhaustion and filled with tears, refuse to close, as if she’s afraid that he’ll be gone by the time she wakes. He runs his thumb along her cheek, mindful of the swollen areas. For the first time in what feels like years, his mind is calm, basking in the feeling of happiness as he’s finally able to feel and see his family, safe and within his reach. That’s all he’s ever wanted, and as he sees her nodding off, he presses a quick kiss to her knuckles, whispering.

“Rest, lovie, I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”

She falls asleep with a faint smile.

Perhaps, fate isn’t cruel as many think. Just like anything, it can be merciful and loving for those who are worth mercy and love.

—

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #ellie writes #ellie writes angst #not my gif #credit to owner

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peterpan-ouat-imagines · 3 years ago

Text

I love you, I hate you- Part 2

Felix telling me that Pan is seeing another girl puts a million thoughts in my head. Does he like her? Why does he feel the need to see and be with her when I’m here? Am I not pretty enough? Or good enough in general? I get worried not knowing what this means. But I don’t get why this is being shared with me either.

“Why are you telling me this? Pan trusts you, he would be livid if he knew you were telling me that kind of information,” I ask not thinking his head is clear.

“I am telling you this because I care about what happens,” he answers. Why does he have to be so freaking vague about everything? ‘What happens’ could mean anything! Ugh.

I try to pry him for more information but he doesn’t budge anymore. Breakfast comes to an end and we all clean up. I go to the medical hut to change my bandages. When I unwrap it, mine now looks terrible. It’s red and goopy and there’s some black cracks up my arm too which is abnormal unless it’s poisoned but we don’t use dreamshade to hunt so it isn’t that concerning. I go to find rubbing alcohol to try and disinfect it but there’s none. I wipe it up some so it’s less messy and put on fresh bandages this time wrapping it tighter than before because I’m still distracted by who this Wendy is and the amount of pressure I use shows that. It pinched my skin so much it hurts.

After it’s taped down I go outside and Felix tells us that we are going to practice sparring and tells us to partner up. I grab a stick and go to my friend Joe and we start doing it. We start fighting just as we normally would. He takes things up a level by going for my legs which obviously I jump for. I do the same and swing my stick at some of his weak spots and he reacts falling a couple times but good overall.

“Joe, go to Lee, I would like to practice with y/n,” Pan says in a business like tone. He nods and goes to the end.

“Pan!” I beam, “I missed you so much!” I exclaim and hug him. I then have the after thought of how he was with someone else and let go and step back quicker than I normally would.

“I missed you too,” he kisses me, “I’m sorry I left without saying anything,” he tells me.

“It’s fine,” I tell him not asking where he went. After a small awkward silence I talk again, “How was it?” I ask wanting to know if being with that other girl was horrible or not.

“It went fantastic. Who I saw was very interesting and I definitely will be going on a trip to see them again soon,” my heart drops when he says that. He likes her, I’m no longer the only girl in his life. Where will I go now? Neverland is for those who are lost and unloved but I feel incredibly more lost and unloved right now than I ever did back home.

We start to spar but I’m too distracted by what he told me to focus on fighting. Within the first 10 seconds he knocks the stick out of my hands.

He looks at me weird, “What’s gotten into you? You were fighting just fine moments ago,” he asks me.

“Just the excitement of having you back,” I lie with a fake half smile. I don’t care if I’m overreacting I feel like I belong on that floor for not being good enough for him.

I fight with him the rest of the time trying to keep my mind focused but it works less than I would hope for it to.

After the morning session he leans in and whispers, “now how about we spend the day doing some stuff to help you relax. You look as if you need it,” as he trails his fingers up and down my back.

I step away uncomfortable doing anything of the sort with my current knowledge, “That’s a nice offer but I’m okay. I had some plans today,” I tell him, “With Lee,” I add on wondering if some jealousy will get him back to wanting me and forgetting about that slut.

He looks confused but not jealous of any sort, “Alright then,” he tells me and then goes his own way.

I stand there lost wondering if he’s being a stupid boy not taking a hint or if he really doesn’t care. Either way I might as well give him attention and maybe flirt a little in front of Pan with him to try to get what I want.

I sit with him at camp all day being real close having Pan glance over at us occasionally unphased even when I try to flirt. He doesn’t flirt back which I didn’t expect because I thought I’ve seen enough signs for him to be into this. After a good couple hours of it I give up and go for a walk alone. I stumble upon Felix again and we get to talking.

“Pan had the best time with her, he plans on going back! I flirted with Lee all day and he didn’t say or do anything!” I tell him.

“Why do you think I care? Isn’t that what your mermaid friends are for? Anyway if you want my advice, do it with someone intimidating not Lee,” he shares.

“My relationship is over,” I state even though Pan hasn’t said it I know inside.

As the day comes to an end people are playing dumb stuff around a fire. I join in and drink. They seem to be playing truth or dare. I just want to forget about Wendy and how Pan left for the night again and get really drunk knowing something bad will happen.

“Y/n, truth or dare?” I’m asked.

“Truth,” I answer.

“Tell everyone what you think of Pan keeping on leaving for the girl in London,” the guy asks.

“Everyone knows about that?” I ask embarrassed. They nod saying they are surprised I found out. Having the alcohol hit me and soon to be regretful words, I pour out everything, “Well I’m pissed as fuck! I’m his girlfriend he should only want me! If he does whatever he wants what’s stopping me from sleeping with one of you? He wouldn’t care!” I see I sparked some of the lost boys interest when I said that as they lean in, “I just want him to want only me not that slut that is in a different realm!” I huff mad.

We play more rounds and I finally choose dare, “I dare you to makeout with me,” Sam sitting next to me says scooting closer, definitely thinking of the slutty comment I said earlier. Feeling so vulnerable and unloved I get ready to lean in to do it. Before I can move my head Felix comes and takes me away to Pan’s cave.

“What was that for? I was going to!-“ I begin lazy.

“I don’t care what you were going to do! I have a job and that’s to keep you safe while Pan is away! And that includes not fucking any lost boys out of anger!”

I turn away from him angry once he goes I feel my injured arm have this horrible pain that’s unlike anything but I’m too drunk and tired to check on it and I fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning with a raging headache and do the regular routine. I hunt with a group of people that’s not Lee for a change. They start talking about what happened last night as we climb in a tree.

“I can’t believe I said all that. Did Sam really try to kiss me?” I ask and they nod and I’m humiliated. I try to spear a boar distracted by something new and miss, it runs off. Rich does it correctly to another one and we carry it back.

I sit next to Felix, “Thanks for having my back last night,” I tell him.

“Just doing my job,” he tells me and sips water.

I sit with him in silence as we both eat.

Felix tells us we will not have a morning practice session and I go back to sleep this hangover off some more.

When I walk in the cheating Peter Pan is standing there.

“Hey,” I tell him holding my head.

“Hey darling how are you?” He asks.

“Exhausted. I got a raging hangover because I was stupid and let the guys rope me into drinking way beyond my normal limits,” I groan.

He comes over and helps me lay down, “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?” He asks being genuine.

“Just some water is fine,” I say. He goes to get some and I look at my arm and even though it’s oozing some I don’t want to get anyone involved and I put on a jacket to hide it.

He comes back with what I asked telling me to get some rest and to call if I need anything that he will be in the tent he does business in.

I nod and sip the water and watch him as he goes. I lay down for several hours left with all my thought in my head I’ve had the past 24 hours. I can’t lose him though. I have to try to win him so I’m the only one he wants.

I go to his tent and see him standing there looking at pieces of parchment, “What are you looking at?” I ask poking my head behind him.

“I’m making a deal with Hook so he continues doing my dirty work,” he tells me.

“What if we do some dirty work?” I whisper and move my hand down to his crotch area and kiss his neck.

I can tell he’s smirking from the corner of my eye and he turns to me, “I’d love to do some dirty work with you,” he whispers back, “but I must finish this. I will later I promise. I do want to,” he kisses my cheek.

“You aren’t going to London? I mean away again tonight?” I correct myself because he does not know I know everything.

“No. I have more important things here. Like you,” he smiles which makes me smile feeling better about my place.

I leave his tent and go to see the mermaids and tell them everything that’s been happening and ask for there incite.

“You’re reading into it Pan loves you he would never cheat,” Serena tries to assure me.

“I don’t know. Two nights in a row on his “business trip” and if Felix of all people say that it’s true it probably is. He doesn’t bullshit stuff,” Alice tells me sounding sceptic.

They go back and forth defending there reasons leaving me confused.

“I still think Lee likes you. Grabbing you by the waist? And not moving his hands once your in a safe spot? That sounds so sexy!” Alice tells me.

“But that doesn’t explain why he didn’t flirt with me,” I tell them.

“He probably knew Pan was there and got nervous. Isn’t he shy? You might have to get him alone,” Serena suggests.

I think about it realizing that actually could be really true, “Thanks girls this has helped a lot,” I head out and find Lee.

He’s sitting around the camp. Right by the tent Pan is in lucky for me. I go to change my nasty bandages for my horrific arm and come back out, “Hey Lee,” I say right by the nylon outside of Pan, “Do you want to get out of here? For a walk in the woods or beach maybe?” I ask. I put my hand on his arm hoping Pan is looking at our shadows.

“Yeah. He smiles. That sounds nice,” he stands up and we walk into the trees. I look back briefly and see Pan staring at us starting to hide in some bushes not far away with a jealous look and I smirk.

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astudyinfreewill · 4 years ago

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hey this may be a stupid question, but it's already been a long time since ive read trk so i don't remember everything properly, so can you explain to me why exactly ganseys behavior in the book is seen as problematic??

hey! don’t worry, there are no stupid questions in my book. in fairness, it’s not about gansey’s behaviour in trk, it’s about his behaviour throughout the whole series. most of his problematic actions all come down to the same basic flaw: self-centeredness. for all that gansey is a generous and loving person, he can’t help but make everything about himself. he is driven by anxiety to define his place in the world beyond his privilege, yet he is blinded by that very same privilege - a bad combination, and one that leads him to show very little empathy for the people he loves.

like many teenagers, he’s looking for affirmation from his friends... but then resents them for not giving it, while failing to see that (most of) his friends are dealing with traumatic issues. when his friends reject his input - because it is not what they need or want at the moment - gansey always, always takes it personally. at no point does he try to ask himself, okay, if this isn’t what my friends need, then what do they need from me and how can i be a better friend? instead, he goes straight into self-pity mode, complaining that his friends reject his support and walk away from him. thing is... it’s not real support if it only makes him feel better and not them.

i don’t really have the time to write an extensive meta on all of the interactions where gansey’s lack of empathy comes into play, but here’s a list of just the most glaring ones in the series, in no particular order:

gansey consistently tries to pay for adam’s way and persuade him to move in with him, even though adam has told him multiple times that he is uncomfortable with it because independence is key to his sense of self as an abuse survivor. sometimes he does this even when he’s fully aware that it will start a fight. despite that, adam is usually the one apologizing, at least on page

notably in trb there’s a scene where gansey tries to get adam to move in with him, but when adam asks what’s going to happen if gansey leaves henrietta - is adam just supposed to drop out of aglionby and follow him? - gansey doesn’t reassure him that’s not gonna happen. he just says adam will have to start again at a new school.

as i said above, this is not true support because it helps gansey feel better without inconveniencing him, but it is not what adam wants. if gansey wanted to support adam, he’d at least promise he would stay in henrietta for their final year of high school, instead of expecting adam to follow him around the world.

when adam rejects that offer and says he’ll stay in the trailer park, gansey takes it incredibly personally and his first response is to victim-blame adam for his abuse, saying things like: “you let your dad pound the shit out of you. you’re as bad as [your abusive mother]. you think you deserve it.” when adam still refuses to move in, and tells him, rightfully so, that gansey doesn’t know what it’s like for him, gansey follows that up with “don’t pretend you have anything to be proud of”. this is past mean and straight into cruel.

adam is the one who apologizes after this fight. let that sink in.

when thinking back on ronan’s suicide attempt, it is strongly implied in the text - and was made explicit in deleted scenes - that gansey appears to have taken ronan’s suicide attempt not just as a traumatic event, but as a slight against him, and is always vaguely guilt-trippy when it comes up (i.e. you promised me you wouldn’t get suicidal again)

gansey does illegal things on ronan’s behalf, multiple times, without ever wondering if this is what ronan wants, see: bribing school officials to keep ronan in school when ronan explicitly wants to drop out, because staying in school is what gansey thinks he should do. even if gansey’s heart was in the right place (i believe in staying in school), he is essentially involving ronan in illegal dealings against his will.

gansey is happy to share his search for glendower with the others, and delegate tasks to them (adam especially) as long as they do things his way. when adam acts against one of his decisions, gansey is absolutely unable to let that go. and while i understand that he is hurt by the breach of trust, because adam went behind his back, his language is telling: “i did tell him that we were to wait, right?”. you don’t “tell” your friends what they “are to do”. that’s not an equal relationship.

this is also seen in the way gansey acts with ronan in more of a parental role, actively ordering him about. you know there is a problem when an outside character refers to ronan as “gansey’s dog” and neither gansey nor ronan disagree with this.

there’s the infamous hospital scene in trb, too, which has been excellently analysed in this meta post by @bleachersmp3 and @mericatblackwood, but i’ll say a few words about it anyway

in this scene, adam has just been beaten into losing his hearing. he has just come out of the hospital, bruised and traumatised, and has been told he will now have a permanent disability as a result of his abuse. he is now also homeless, because by pressing charges against his father to protect ronan, he has ensured his parents will kick him out for good. so he is forced to move into monmouth - something we have been told from the start of the book he absolutely did not want, because it was critical to his sense of self not to depend on gansey’s wealth. so, he’s bitter about it.

and okay, that’s not entirely fair, because it wasn’t gansey’s fault. but if your friend had just undergone such horrific trauma, surely you would be a little lenient, and understand they’re not being objective atm, right? well, not gansey. instead, gansey launches into a tirade at him: “what is your problem, adam? [...] is there something about my place that’s too repugnant for you? [...] I’m sick of tiptoeing around your principles!”

when adam snaps at him that he’s being condescending by using highbrow words (we can assume that this is a discussion they’ve had before, because adam tries to get gansey to use more everyday words multiple times in the book, especially when it’s clear that blue doesn’t understand something, so it’s something gansey already know adam finds condescending), gansey goes straight to victim-blaming again, this time with a classist twist thrown in: “i’m sorry your father never taught you the meaning of repugnant. he was too busy smashing your head against the wall of your trailer while you apologized for being alive.”

gansey does not apologize at any point after this fight.

when adam sacrifices himself to cabeswater - which he does explicitly to stop whelk from murdering one of them and save gansey - gansey takes it as a slight against him, because it goes against what he told adam to do, and sadly asks adam “why? was i so awful?”, showing he has completely misunderstood adam’s reasons. adam tells him, and not for the last time: “it was never about you”.

it clearly doesn’t sink in bc they have the same discussion in the dream thieves, when gansey again asks him why did he go to cabeswater against his orders. he does this in an emotionally manipulative way, too - implying that ronan and blue both think badly of him while gansey has been defending him so adam owes him. adam again tries to tell him “it wasn’t about you”, which gansey refuses to believe, and reminds adam that the glendower search “belongs” to him. adam replies that if gansey wants adam’s help - which gansey relies upon frequently, as it seems like adam is assigned a very large share of research and coming up with ideas - he needs to treat him as an equal

after the fight, when adam has a mental breakdown due to the combination of stress, ptsd, and magically-induced hallucinations, and is found wandering along a highway, clearly dissociating and undergoing amnesia, gansey is still so bitter about their fight that he contemplates leaving him behind in dc, so that “adam will have to apologize for once” (for once???)

consider all this emphasis gansey puts on how much adam betrayed his trust; consider that gansey then spends nearly two books seeing blue behind adam’s back (starting in tdt, through bllb, and halfway through trk)

consider that despite the fact adam takes the reveal gracefully and thanks gansey for his honesty, when adam later in trk is honest with gansey about his feelings for ronan, gansey’s immediate reaction is to assume adam is using ronan as a sexuality experiment and warns him not to break ronan’s heart, because ronan is just so fragile and adam is just so cold

consider that the only basis gansey has for making this assumption is that “adam has hurt him (gansey) so many times before”, but never stops to think about his own responsibility in their disagreements, or whether he ever hurt adam

as you can see, the vast majority of these are in the first two books, with the exception of the “shovel talk” in trk. i would like to say gansey grows over the series, but i think unfortunately it’s more to do with the fact that starting with bllb, the plot is split between gansey/blue and adam/ronan, so gansey just doesn’t get as many interactions with adam and ronan (he’s still bribing school officials on ronan’s behalf though, including selling monmouth which at the time is where ronan is also living).

gansey isn’t a bad person, and doesn’t (always) mean badly. he does love his friends. unfortunately, his refusal to see things from anyone’s perspective but his own makes him a toxic friend on a great number of occasions.

#trc #meta #gansey #toxic friendship #mp #gotta stop here because i need to work and also i'm getting upset #long post #suicide mention tw #anonymous #answer #my meta

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